Revelation (SWL)
by ApprenticeofDoyle
Summary: It's just chance the Winchesters stumble upon a mysterious blue box. Just chance. Chance it belongs to an alien. Chance they meet two fictional detectives after the TARDIS is sucked into an alternative universe. But is it chance the world is ending and all there is left is the Doctor, Team Free Will, and 221B Bakers St. to save the day? Nope. But it sure as hell won't be easy.
1. Uneasy Introductions

** Revelation**

Chapter 1. Uneasy Introductions

"Are you sure we're heading the right way?" the taller Winchester asked. Doubt and small irritation infused his voice as the two men tramped down the grey, scarcely populated street.

"Cas said there was some disturbance in the air or something. I don't know, he used a lot of words like temporal wave or whatever the hell. Some angel crap, I'm sure." Dean shoved his hands in his pockets with reservation in his eyes. Sam knew Dean trusted Cas- hell, Sam did too, more than he'd like to admit- but recently it was iffy about what Cas was doing. After what the Winchesters had experienced in their lives, trust violated took a lot of time to overcome.

"Temporal? That's not really angel so much as science fiction. Reminds me of a old-"

"Cut the nerd crap, Sammy," Dean grumbled as they rounded a closed store on the corner of a block. "I just don't want trouble. Not with you being, ya know-"

"Yeah, Dean, I know." Sam rolled his eyes. _Blah, blah, the Trials, blah._ Dean worried way too much. Honestly. Not that Sam himself wasn't worried, but Sam wished that for once Dean wasn't worried about losing him. Again.

He decided to change subjects. If he said something it was just lead to another fight. Again. "What was the address again?"

"75 Rose Avenue." Dean glanced up at a green sign as they walked over a crosswalk. Only a few passerby could be seen in town, and they didn't even have to press a walk button. But the Winchesters were used to barren towns. As long as it wasn't Croatoa all over again, they were fine with whatever hoke town they came across as long as there was a monster to catch.

"What do we plan on doing when we get there? Did Cas say anything else besides 'temporal wave whatever the hell'?"

"Nope," Dean replied with a sigh. "We just do our thing. If there's an angel or demon involved...I guess we'll just take it as we go."

"Like always," Sam muttered. After a pregnant pause, he finally asked, "Dean...what the hell are we doing? We should be looking for Kevin! For the tablet! The sooner we close the gates the sooner this demon bullshit will be over."

"Look, I know I said that you could get back in the game-" Sam was about to interrupt that he didn't need Dean's permission, but the older Winchester powered on- "but you're still not ready. Okay? Taking a easy workout case will be better for you."

"What will be better for me is shutting the gates-"

"Hold it, Sam," Dean said, shooting out an arm.

"But Dean-"

"We are on the street." Sam felt his sentence die on his lips as his instincts kicked in. Stiffening, the brothers looked around the barren street. The only thing on the road was a parked, silent green El Camino and the flickering of a few neon signs. The stores that were open were crappy and ramshackle and had no customers.

It was dead quiet.

"This is weird," Dean said. "I knew this podunk town wasn't big but...it seems now I'm just noticing that it's practically empty."

"It's not just weird. It feels wrong, somehow." Sam felt a chill run down his back. That hunter sense combined with a creeping feeling made him look down an alley to his left. Down it there was nothing except a few dirty trashcans long forgotten. It was a brick dead end. But the feeling grew stronger as he gazed down the alley, and Sam's hand drew reflexively to the demon-hunting knife at his waist.

"Dean," he felt himself whisper. Dean, who'd been eyeing the quiet road suspiciously, whirled and felt himself fall into step next to a steadily moving Sam, who'd been drawn down into the alley.

"Definitely weird," Dean muttered, feeling the same prickling sensation as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

It felt like an hour, sneaking into that alley. Like it just got longer. They both tensed, weapons drawn, like something would leap at them at any moment.

They heard it before they saw it.

The rhythmic moan, like deep raspy breath echoing up the brick walls on either side of the brothers.

_Vworp...vworp. _

"Is that a-" Dean felt himself ask, but he couldn't get the sentence out.

"What the hell?" Sam breathed.

xXXx

A flicker, a dim shape, faded in and out of view. Blue. Deep blue. Light from a small lantern on top cast onto the shocked duo as it touched down and fell as silent as the air. It was a rectangular box, paneled and antique almost. It reminded Dean of the Impala for some reason, God knew why. It just made him think of a vehicle that had been through a lot, been through tight squeezes and tough times, like the two of them. It was like a person, experienced but still full of vigor.

"Police public call box," Dean read off the top. Inside the windows lining the top he could see a yellowish light pour through. Sam eased towards the box with hesitant but insistent curiosity.

"Sam," Dean started, reaching for his arm, but Sam shook it off and eventually got within inches of the box.

_Pull to open,_ Sam read in his head. His hand twitched at his side._ Well, if it says so. _He lifted a stiff but steady hand and placed it on the silver handle. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he gave it a light pull. It didn't budge.

"Huh," he muttered. He peeked inside the window, but it was too opaque to make out anything from outside.

"What?" Dean asked, coming slowly towards his brother. Dean lifted his hand and slowly ran it across the dark blue wood.

Sam pulled again. It wouldn't open.

"It's locked," he replied. His hand moved from the handle to the silver lock, rubbing a thumb over it.

"Well...I guess..." Dean didn't know what to say. What was this? Where did it come from? Confusion rioted between the two as they shared a look of mutual misunderstanding.

"Could this have been what Cas was talking about?" Sam asked with a shrug.

"I had not expected this." The deep voice floated through the charged air, and the two turned and expected to see their friend Cas. But he wasn't there.

"Cas?" Dean asked. "Where are you?"

"Up here," came the reply. Sam and Dean looked upwards, and perched on top of the box was a slightly troubled looking Castiel. Cas was often confused, but usually it was on the topic of humans and Dean's constant pop culture references. This time, though, he just looked puzzled.

"What are you doing up there?" Sam asked, quirking a brown eyebrow.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I mean to appear in front of you. But this was...in the way. Which is very strange. Usually I can sense that the area where I land is empty. And it was."

"Yeah, it was, up until about two seconds ago. It just- appeared. Out of nowhere. Not in the same way you show up, but it faded in and out." Dean scratched his head. "This is so sci-fi."

"I know, right? This is weird. Not top five...but maybe top ten. Is it too nerdy for you, Dean? Maybe I should start talking about the possibility of parallel universes." A smile spread across Sam's pale face. Despite his confusion, Dean's mood lightened at his smile. It felt like forever since Sam had smiled. And he hadn't been this geeky in a while- more like years. It felt good, seeing him smile under those dark circles.

"Come on down from there," Dean said gruffly to Cas, feeling much too chick-flickish. There was the beating sound of wings through the air and Cas appeared next to Dean. His blue eyes were glued to the box. Sam had been walking in circles around it, knocking on it and touching it. An almost childish excitement had invigorated his steps as he skirted around it.

"What's up with you? You look like me locked in a pie bakery."

Cas's brow furrowed. "Why would you be happy about being locked in a store?"

Dean ignored him and Sam said breathlessly, "I have no idea. There's just something about this box. It's a police box. From the sixties. The sixties in London."

"How would you know that, sherlock?" Dean grumbled, trying to hide his own feeling of being drawn to the box. It was like a magnet. Cas looked unaffected, as usual.

Sam shrugged. "I've always wanted to go to Britain. Whenever I was in college with free time, I sometimes went to the library and looked up places to go. England, Italy." His smile faded briefly. "That was a long time ago." But it picked up again, his lips curling. "I remember seeing a picture of it in an old book of modern British myths. A mysterious blue box. Usually an omen of things."

"What kind of things?" Dean asked, intrigued.

"Bad things. Well, odd things."

Hunter instinct kicked Dean's brain into gear. "Like what?" he asked gravely.

"Calm down, Dean," Sam said, reading Dean's train of thought off his face. "It just appears. And weird things happen, like power outages and wave fluctuations." Dean ignored this last part. Weird things were always bad. Bad things ALWAYS happened. Typical.

"The thing is," Sam continued, "the myth sometimes included a-"

There was a noise and suddenly the door of the box burst open, and out leapt a man looking like an old Oxford professor, complete with suspenders and a bow tie.

"Hello!" the man yelled jovially. "The name's the Doctor! Do you think you could tell me where I am?"

"-man!" Sam finished with a start, hurriedly stepping backwards.

The three men eyed the odd character suspiciously. He was tall, but not as tall as Sam. He had a red striped shirt and suspenders under a beige tweed jacket. His bow tie was small and deep red, and he had a light brown coif of hair. His eyes were big and bright, reminiscent of an excited child, and he had a brilliant, friendly gleam on his face.

Sam felt oddly comfortable around him- like he wouldn't spontaneously lunge for his throat like everything else that was unexpected since..well, forever. He didn't meet very many excited people in his life, not of late. The only person he could think of with this kind of enthusiasm was Charlie. But there was something he recognized in the man's eyes. It was the link of a man meeting another man with an old, experienced soul. Dean could sense it too. Like the youth had been through as much difficulty as the Winchesters- which was a helluva lot.

"Uh..." Dean found himself saying. He was at a loss. Castiel remained silent at his side, his eyes analyzing the Doctor thoroughly.

"Erhm, hello," Sam said, extending a hand. "It's nice to meet you, um, Doctor...?" His tone echoed the question ringing in his head, but he continued.

"I'm Sam Winchester, and that's my brother Dean and our friend Castiel. Er, did you just ask where you are?" He looked briefly at Dean, mouthing _Doctor who? _

"Yes, yes, I did," the man replied quickly, shooting out a hand and shaking it fast. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam!" He sounded like he meant it, and tension oozed out of Sam's shoulders as the hand he had placed on his knife fell off the hilt. "The TARDIS is having some trouble and one of its readouts is malfunctioning." He turned briefly towards the box, his face turning concerning. "Poor girl. Sexy's having a bad day, I suppose." He gave it a small affectionate rub, then turned back to Sam, who'd felt like he'd seen Dean comforting the Impala when it sprung a fuel leak. "My location?"

"Um...Wycatt, Montana," Sam informed him. How could he not know where he was?

"Ah, the States," the Doctor said knowingly, eyes twinkling. "Well, it's about time I went somewhere different. It explains your accents of course."

"Speaking of accents, yours is...British?" Dean put in, wanting to confirm Sam's hypothesis about the police box myth.

"Ah, well, I suppose we can stick with British. I'm not, of course, but it just works best."

"Okaaaay," Dean said, looking like he had been hit in the head with a stick.

"What year?" he asked.

"What?" Sam wondered. This was even worse that asking the location.

"What's the date?" the Doctor asked again, patiently.

"Uh, April 30th..." The Doctor raised a faint brow, and Sam slowly finished the entire date. "Um...2013."

The Doctor nodded with a smirk. "Right, still twenty-first century. Good. That's nice." He took a look behind him and up the walls of the alley. "What are you doing here?" He eyed Sam up and down. "Were you...expecting me? That's impossible, I wasn't even expecting me." He whipped out a glowing object, looking like a silver flashlight with a green bulb.

_Weapon! _Dean's trained brain shouted. "Hey!" Dean yelled, stepping forward. "What the hell is that?" The Doctor started waving up and down Sam, who was watching, eyes wide. "Get it away from my brother!"

"Just a sonic screwdriver, it will do no harm," the Doctor said calmly, giving the two brothers reassuring looks. Dean was not reassured, but Cas put a hand on his shoulder.

"I sense no evil from this man or his tools. Or his...box," Castiel said. Dean's eyebrows pinched together with frustration and looked back and forth from Sam and Castiel, worry etched on his face. But his trust in Cas trickled through and Dean resisted the urge to tackle the slender Brit and his weirdo flashlight.

The Doctor stopped waving it all over, to their relief, and he lifted it to his eye as if examining a readout. "Interesting," he said curiously. "Say, Sam Winchester, are you psychic? There are certain...lingers...And something else...something..." His voice drifted into murmurs even Sam couldn't hear.

"What?" Sam asked, shocked. "It told you that?" Shaking it off, Sam replied quietly, "No. Not anymore. I mean, I don't..." It was hard to explain that Sam stopped using his powers long ago due to abandoning his source of power...demon's blood. Sam frequently tried to never ever think about it, and the reminder itself gave him chills.

"Yes, it's a sonic screwdriver," the Doctor replied to Sam's first question. He didn't notice Sam drift off, as he was too lost in his own brain to focus completely. "It's very smart." The Doctor bounded over to Dean and Cas, who squared his shoulders. Cas remained stoic, but his eyes followed the Doctor's every movement.

"Whoa, hold it there, Mr. Bean." _There's the English reference, _Sam thought, rolling his eyes. Dean gritted his teeth, then finally the questions they'd all been thinking burst from his mouth. "Who are you? How'd you get here? What's the box? What the hell's a sonic screwdriver? How come you don't know the date or where you are?"

"Wow," the Doctor said. "And I thought I spoke fast." But his smile spread farther across his narrow face. "Ah, I've missed this." He jerked his arm around, the screwdriver whizzing incessantly. He paused at Castiel, and it was like the Doctor just noticed the silent man with the tie and trenchcoat.

"Ooh," he said quietly. He paused, his eyes widening with absolute wonder. "What are you, Castiel? That's your name, am I correct? Interesting...You're like nothing I've ever come across before."

Castiel blinked. "I am an angel of the Lord."

For once, the Doctor seemed completely and utterly floored. The flow of words from his mouth ceased and his hand dropped to his side. Silence enveloped the four for a moment.

"Ooookay," he said, just as Dean had. "That's...new." He waved his hand again, and he ran it over and around Castiel many times and reading it. "It detects some sort of...matter...that I can't see. Angel you say? You don't happen to have..."

"I do indeed have wings," Cas said, his voice low and as surprised as the Winchesters had ever heard it. "That device tells you of them?"

"Yes...That's...incredible," the Doctor breathed. He ran in circles around Cas excitedly, as if hoping the wings would magically appear. "Fascinating. I've never met an angel before." Castiel shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry. I love new things. Beautiful. It's about time I had some fun."

"Doctor," Cas muttered. "You are new to me as well. What are you?" He cocked his head, as if listening to something. "You are certainly not human."

"What?" Sam and Dean asked in unison. They both came closer to Castiel and the Doctor, hands entering their pockets.

"Ooh, you can tell? Ah, you must be listening to my hearts."

"I'm sorry, did you just say hearts? As in plural?" Dean asked, shock slapping across his face.

"Yep," the Doctor said. "I have two. I'm a Timelord." Dean couldn't think of a response.

"I've never heard of a 'Timelord'," Sam pondered. "Cas?"

"Your race is not known to me," Castiel said.

"You're not in Dad's journal," Dean said. "We've never come across one of your kind before."

"Why would I be in a journal?" the Doctor asked. "And of course you've never come across my species. I'm the last of the Timelords, from the planet Gallifrey."

"Hold up!" Sam shouted, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. "Gallifrey. A different planet?!"

"Yes. My TARDIS- Time and Relative Dimensions in Space- is a spaceship. Well, a time machine too. It's a TARDIS. It...travels. Why it brought me here in this century to this planet I have no idea. I was on my way to Brixton in the 3007, to be exact. Then the TARDIS started shaking and ricocheting around the time curtain and bam. I was here. Exciting, don't you think? Makes me wonder how you expected me."

"No. Friggin. Way," Dean said. Sam's throat felt dry and he started coughing, leaning against the wall. Concern wiped away all of his confusion for a moment as Dean eyed his brother, who kept coughing. Damn Trials.

"That's impossible. Only angels can travel through time." Castiel said, with absolute confidence in his deep voice. "I sensed a disturbance, a temporal wave like that of an archangel or demon. Not an..." Castiel paused. "...off-Earth lifeform."

"It's really not that impossible. Before today the idea that I'd be meeting and and speaking with an angel of the Lord was, but I was wrong, wasn't I?" He paused and suddenly looked at Sam, who was wheezing now. "I detected something...odd about you besides your abilities. Sam, are you feeling alright?"

"I'm...I'm fine, Doctor," Sam replied roughly, but then shut his eyes as his whole body racked with coughs.

"No. No, you're not." A flicker of worry passed through the Doctor's eyes.

Desperation to keep his brother safe formed a rock in Dean's chest. "Doctor, do you know what's wrong with him? How do we save him? Can you fix him? You're an alien doctor for God's sakes!"

"I dunno, Dean," the Doctor whispered. "I've never come across such an affliction before." His hope crumbled in his chest and Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Damn it," he grumbled.

"I can try to fix it...maybe a visit to..." the Doctor said, his eyes gazing at nothing and wondering aloud. Sam stopped coughing in surprise.

"No, it's just a symptom of Trials," he said.

"What Trials?" the Doctor enquired, half in his own mind.

"To shut the gates of Hell."

"What?" the Doctor asked slowly, downright confused. He walked closer to Sam and looked into his eyes.

"Dean and I," Sam explained hoarsely, "we're hunters."

"Hunters of what?" the Doctor's tone grew dark at the word.

"We hunt...monsters. Creatures of the night, like ghosts and vampires and skinwalkers- demons too." Sam stood up straight, the coughing fit over.

"That's...most of the time odd creatures are aliens," the Doctor said. "Like spirits...often they're trapped time travelers trapped in pocket dimensions."

"Nope," Dean said. This alien stuff was wigging him out. Speaking of real stuff, stuff of nightmares that he's known his entire life, seen, fought, like werewolves and zombies, made him relax. I need therapy, Dean thought to himself. "The spirits- at least that we hunt- are dead people. Dead angry people."

"Hmm...continue," the thin man with the bow tie mumbled, returning his attention to Sam.

"Demons have been in our world for a while now. After stopping the apocalypse they keep causing trouble. So we found a friend of ours, a prophet of God, and he had a tablet- God's written word- and he interpreted it." He was intentionally cryptic on the subject of Kevin. "It told us the spell that could close the gates of hell, to keep the demons out of the living world so they would stop killing people...and ruining lives." Determination filtered through Sam's features as he was reminded of his mission. Personal experience with demons that had wrecked his family's life had hardened his vicious hatred of them.

"Right," the Doctor said. "Demons. Okay. So...in order to perform the spell..."

"Sam has to go through trials." Dean crossed his arms. "Different things he has to do to shut the gates. And they're making him sick."

"Indeed," the Doctor agreed. "On a subatomic level."

"It's beyond my power to heal," Castiel said regretfully.

"It's my problem. I'll be fine after the Trials are over and we get the demon problem out of our lives."

"Right..." the Doctor said again. "Well...would you like to step inside...? I have a feeling that the TARDIS brought me here...for a reason. And I think that reason is to help you boys. I mean, I can't come up with another. Besides the fact that it's so...quiet." He gestured to the end of the alley, and suddenly Dean and Sam felt like they had landed on Earth again. "Why is it so quiet?"

"I don't know...we thought that it was caused by something...unnatural."

"Well, for you I'm as unnatural as they come. But I didn't cause...emptiness. Rather the opposite, really. I make things noisy." The Doctor scuttled over to the edge of the alley and poked his shaggy head out, jerking his attention in all directions. The sky above was dark and rainy, but not a drop had fallen. Castiel, Dean, and Sam followed.

"What do you think it is? Surely this town's not deserted."

"This town used to be populated," Castiel said. "But my celestial senses feel...dampened. Something is here. And it's blocking me. I don't feel any humans nearby."

"Think it could be demonic?" Sam whispered, unease stilling his voice.

Dean's mind suddenly felt deja vu. He remembered his trip into the future, with a pot smoking, hippie Cas and a Lucifer-possessed Sam. The world had been full of zombies, victims of the Croatoan virus. The memory sent chills down his spine. "I have no idea what's going on."

Suddenly, the light of the TARDIS behind them began to blink, glancing across the four jackets donning the boys.

"Blinking?" the Doctor asked. "My TARDIS doesn't blink...unless it's about to move. And it can't be...no, no, _no _WAIT! Sam, Dean, c'mon! NO NO _WAIT!"_

He whirled and burst back down into the alley, throwing opened the doors. Sam, Castiel, and Dean sprinted behind him and barreled inside just as the world outside started to fade.

"What the hell?" Sam and Dean choked.

"Wow," Cas said, his voice deep with rare amazement.

The Doctor slammed the TARDIS door shut and ran in circles around the pillar of light inside the TARDIS. The vworping noise sounded again and there was a boom as the TARDIS flew into movement. It started shaking and jerking startlingly fast and Dean and Sam slid around the grey floor, their boots having difficulty grasping the smooth floor.

"Doctor, what's happening?" Sam shouted. He lunged for the handrail and Dean found himself with one arm squeezing Cas's arm and the other the handrail as fear shamelessly ripped through him. Oh God. It was moving. OH GOD.

Cas gripped the handrail tightly and the Doctor was yelling loudly and clutching the side of the large console around the pillar.

"What are you doing? Where are we going?! You know, I don't like being told where to go, you know that! I'm the Timelord, not you!" There was another shake that sent Sam with a yell off his feet and rolling past the Doctor, sliding across the slanting floor and across the large room, into the other handrail next to a set of stairs. The Doctor reached for Sam, too late, and looked at the pillar with horror. " Oh, no, I'm sorry, sexy, I didn't mean it!"

"Sam!" Dean yelped, still gripping Castiel and the rails desperately. "I DON'T LIKE FLYING!" Hysteria made his hazel eyes so wide he thought they would pop out.

"Dean," Sam gasped, gripping the silver handrail as his feet dangled around like a pendulum. "This isn't anything like an airplane!"

"DON'T LIE TO ME, GODDAMMIT! I KNOW FLYING WHEN I FEEL IT, SAM!" He held the handrail for dear life next to Castiel and screamed as the TARDIS shook again.

"Dean," Castiel said in a slightly strangled voice. "You're actually cutting the circulation from my arm."

"SHUT UP, CAS!" Dean screamed, his deep voice so high it was almost a wail. His biker boots slid helplessly on the floor and Castiel's cobalt eyes squeezed shut for brief second.

"I'm sorry about this!" the Doctor yelled, clinging to the console. "This doesn't usually happen! I'm all for showing the TARDIS with adventure in the mix but not like this!"

"MAKE IT STOP BEFORE I OPEN THAT DOOR AND SHOVE YOU INTO EMPTY SPACE!" Dean yelled. The TARDIS shook even harder, like it was smashing against brick walls.

Castiel turned pale. "I'm feeling a strange...sensation in the pit of my stomach." His voice was barely audible above the crashing noises and vworping and Dean's consistent screaming.

"IF YOU PUKE ON ME, CAS, I WILL MURDER YOU IN THE MOST IMAGINATIVE WAY POSSIBLE! AND TRUST ME- I KNOW A LOT OF WAYS!"

"Vomit? Oh, no, oh no no NO! No vomiting in my TARDIS!" The Doctor yelled in anguish and with lights flashing and sparks flying the TARDIS all the sudden landed with a jolting halt, finally horizontal.

Sam straightened in relief, panting for breath. "Well...that was fun. Am I allowed to finally bring up that this place is bigger on the inside?" "Sam, it's been such a long time since someone's said those words," the Doctor said, straightening with a growing smile. "I've missed it dearly." His smile was infectious and Sam couldn't help but give a tiny, awkward smile in return.

Cas blinked rapidly. "That's...better." He looked down at his arm, which was still in full grip of Dean, eyes wild, who had not yet recovered from the mindblowing trip through time and space. "Dean...you can let go of my arm now."

Dean shook for a moment, and the glazed look in his eyes passed. "Right," he said. He released his grip slowly on the handrail and whirled, heading for the door.

"I am OFF this crazy-ass spaceship!" he yelled, but the Doctor cried out quickly.

"Dean, wait for me to check for oxygen! You don't want to walk out into absolute empty space, do you?" The Doctor chuckled as if it were funny. Castiel cocked his head, and Sam raked his hand through his hair, thinking to himself this is insane.

That made Dean freeze in his tracks, but when he turned around his face was still twisted with doubt. But now his cheeks were pink with embarrassment at his breakdown. "Right," he said. "Well, check, will you?"

"One moment. Be patient, Dean. You know the read out is broken." He ran towards the stairs and hopped down into the space leading to a lower floor, screwdriver in hand. Meanwhile, Sam's eyes swooped around the TARDIS in awe, his mouth agape. He gave a small spin, trying to take it all in and he nearly tripped over his own boots. The tips of his lips tipped up, and he gazed at Dean with his mouth an 'O' of amazement. Dean, however, was still pale from his very embarrassing panic attack.

"I didn't know you had a fear of flying, Dean," Castiel said, and Sam could have sworn amusement was in his usually emotionless voice. Sam felt a hysterical chuckle bubble up in his chest and rise to his mouth, and it felt so good he let it out. Let it ring across the entire TARDIS. When he started he couldn't stop. He laughed so hard he doubled over on his knees, clutching his chest and nearly wheezing.

Dean stared at his brother. He hadn't seem Sam this happy in a long time. A really long time. He couldn't even remember the last time Sam had been remotely close to laughing. His frustration and fear completely vanished and he almost smiled. His little brother was laughing. Smiling. Wow.

"I've never heard you laugh before, Sam," Castiel said, tentatively as if it were unsure if he could mention it.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Dean asked, breathing in and out. The breaths were lighter because Sam's happiness was palpable, never mind that it was at the cost of Dean's dignity.

"Oh, man," Sam gasped, desperate for air. "This, this is great, this is amazing." He straightened, grin stretching across his face. "Dean, don't you realize where we are?" He gestured grandly around the blue and green lit room. "We are in a SPACESHIP. A time travelling spaceship. This is unbelievable. Incredible." He paused, and Sam briefly wondered if this was some sort of trickster trap. But no. No one could be this creative. Not even Gabriel. "Holy hell. This...wow." He ran over to the rail and peeked downwards, and he could see the Doctor tinkering below as glowing wires continued down a pillar and exposed the inner workings of the TARDIS. "Doctor- you are amazing. The TARDIS is amazing. This is so cool." To himself, he said aloud, "I feel like I'm ten years old."

The Doctor looked up at Sam and an uncontrollable grin spread across his face. "Really? You think so?" He touched his chin, deliberating for a moment.

"Maybe this is why I came..." his voice was a whisper and Sam couldn't catch it.

"What was that, Doctor?" Sam cocked his head and Doctor laughed as Sam's longish hair fell in his face and he blew a gust of wind to get it out of his eyes.

"Nothing. I think I'm finished. I'm coming back up." He sprinted back up the stairs and to the center of the pillar. He looked at a screen inlayed into the console and read it.

"Ah, we're in Britain. Good old London."

"We're in London?" Dean asked, still disbelieving despite the wild ride. "What...what year?" It almost hurt to ask.

"Same year, don't worry Dean." The Doctor clapped his hands together and Dean exhaled a sigh of relief.

"We're in England?" Sam whispered, excitement flickering through him. He started to run towards the TARDIS doors, but halfway there he paused and doubled over, this time not in laughter but in pain as coughs rattled out of his body.

"Sam?" The Doctor looked up, alarm on his face, and Dean ran over with Cas. Dean clutched his brother's shoulders.

"Sam?!" Dean's face was twisted with concern, but Sam's hand gripped Dean's wrist.

"Fine- Dean- I'm ok-" He started coughing viciously again.

"No," the Doctor said quietly. "Not so soon. We haven't even begun..." His face began to fall.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked the Doctor, but Sam straightened, wiping his face with a brown-jacketed arm. Blood stained the material and Dean felt the ball of concern in his chest swell. Castiel looked upset and resigned. His feelings about being so helpless to heal Sam were never so clear on his face.

"We're going to get you better, Sam," the Doctor said. "I swear on it. Cheer up, Dean. We are in London! After we poke our heads out to see what the fuss is all about, we'll head straight to the Aurora system. They have the greatest healers of their galaxy there." He clapped the two Winchesters on the back, his own tone lightening and calming. Sam smiled tightly and Dean sighed.

"Let's be quick," Castiel said, and the odd troupe headed out the TARDIS doors into the grey, drizzly London air.


	2. The Gang's All Here

** Chapter Two- The Gang's All Here**

**_221B Baker Street. April 30th, 2013. _****  
**

"Sherlock..." John felt himself asking, despite the shock instilled in his body. His gaze was frozen out the window, looking down at the unusually sparse street below and across from his London apartment.  
"What is it, John?" Sherlock asked, disinterest evident in his voice. He undoubtedly noticed the disbelief in John's voice, but he didn't care. He changed fingerings on his violin and played a short, low-pitched chord. His grey eyes closed and he sank again into his own shrewd mind.  
John thought briefly about getting up, but he couldn't process the required muscle movement to actually move his legs. He had been blogging lightly about the work of Sherlock's most recently solved case- this one involving a goldfish and a suspicious brick of bronze- and his hand, holding a steaming, fresh cup of Earl Grey, was frozen halfway to his mouth. He had to actually think about it, but without drawing his eyes away from the perplexing thing about the window, he set the mug slowly down on his desk. His mouth closed after hanging open for a full thirty seconds and he drew back his chair. John's eyes were still fixed outside. Then he quickly ran to the window and practically pressed his face to the glass.  
"Oh my God."  
"What is it, John?" Sherlock finally asked, albeit grudgingly. He was bored, bored enough to ask.  
"It's a...police box." John's voice was hoarse.  
Sherlock's black eyebrow hitched up. "Impossible. Police boxes haven't been used since the 1960s. And there wasn't one there yesterday. I looked outside the windows merely thirty two and a half minutes ago and it wasn't there. I heard no loud vehicles that have possibly placed it there. All I heard was that odd...noise..." His voice faded as his eyes narrowed in thought.  
"Do you think I'm lying to you?" John asked, irritation bleeding through the stupor in his voice. "Or do you think I'm blind? There's a police box. Right there across the street!"  
"Hmm." Sherlock set his violin down slowly and padded across the wooden floor of their apartment, and gazed outside the adjacent window. He barely looked two seconds before whirling, grabbing his coat, and racing out the door. "Right! Something finally interesting!" In his flurry of movement, he hardly had the time to shout to his friend. "C'mon, John! Time for the game!"  
John suddenly felt warmth tremble down his spine and he too, excitement boiling through him, ran after Sherlock and down the stairs. Keeping up with Sherlock, they passed the empty road, quickly and without worry of other cars, and across to the box. John's foot hadn't even touched the sidewalk before Sherlock started rattling off.  
"This...this box tells me so much. And so little." He circled around the box frantically. "John, tell me quickly, how did it get here?"  
"I have no idea," John whispered. "I was staring out the window. And it just appeared. Literally. It faded in and out of existence, with the lantern on top flashing and a strange grating noise."  
"Ridiculous. Things don't fade in and out of existence. That's preposterous. Surely someone brought it here."  
"No one was on the street," John insisted. He looked around. There was no one on the street at all. No one. "There's no one...on the street. No cars..."  
Sherlock suddenly stopped his quick circling and looked around the barren street.  
"Where is everyone?" he muttered softly. "John...did you see Mrs. Hudson this morning?"  
John blinked. "No. No, I...I knocked on her door this morning after we got back from Surrey. It' s become a habit of mine, telling her we are alive and well...she didn't answer. So I assumed she was in bed."  
"I haven't heard her presence since last night," Sherlock said. "I had passed it off as nothing...perhaps she'd been out- but now..."  
"It's so empty," John breathed. For the first time in his life, John heard nothing. The loud noises of London were gone. There was not even a whisper of a car horn or a roar of a distant airplane engine.  
Nothing.  
"Impossible." Sherlock yanked out a cell phone and pressed the third button. Then he held it to his ear. Moments later, he shoved it back into his pocket with a curse, his face wrinkling with frustration. "There's no dialtone."  
"What the hell is going on?"  
"This box!" Sherlock shouted. "It must have something to do with it. Perhaps..."  
"Baskerville all over again? Have we been drugged?!"  
"John, shut up, I'm thinking!" Sherlock pressed his hands to his temples. He started to mutter in such a low tone John couldn't hear him. He found himself coming closer towards the box. He stretched out a hand and felt its cool, wooden surface. It was dark blue and at the top it read "Police public call Box". Next to the handle there was a list that explained what is was. John had only seen police boxes in old 50s and 60s movies. He thought he saw a red one in Glasgow once, but never here in London. Especially across the street. He grasped the handle and gave it a tug, but it wouldn't open.  
"It's locked, Sherlock!" He peered at the box intently. "How did you get here?" he asked it, like it could reply. He stepped to the side and examined it. He thought about getting up on his tiptoes to peek inside the box but decided against it. It was only blue panelling. Off to the side he could see Sherlock pacing and muttering, completely ignorant of John. There was a sudden noise of sound, and the box's doors were thrown open.  
Silent and in awe, John watched as four jacketed strangers walked out of the box. A professor looking man, wearing a tweed jacket and wore a bowtie and suspenders. One had jet black hair and a trench coat. Another was pale and tall, even taller than Sherlock, and had shaggy brown hair. And finally, there was a shorter man with buzzed, spiky brown hair and a military green jacket.  
"London?" the one with short hair asked. "You'd think it'd be louder."

"Dean...we're in London!" Sam couldn't help but smile.  
Smiling so much in such a short time was completely out of the ordinary. Almost as out of the ordinary as traveling through space. Never in his whole life had something so incredible happened that immediately didn't cause death or tears or blood. In fact, none of those things had happened yet. It was a miracle in itself, even if everything could have gone wrong. Sam pushed the thoughts away, worried about jinxing it.  
"We are in Europe," Cas confirmed. Traveling so suddenly was completely familiar to him. But hearing him say it was still reassuring. "And no angel or demonic magic has been performed."  
"Will you knock it off with all the demon rubbish?" The Doctor crossed his arms. "It's cramping my style..."  
Now that he was out of that deathtrap time machine and in a completely new country with a weird British alien that wasn't trying to eat them who had promised to help Sam get better- wow, that was one weird sentence- Dean allowed a smile to creep onto his face.  
"Watch it, Dean..." Sam whispered. "There's a smile on your face. If you leave it there it might get stuck that way."  
Dean struggled to wipe it off his face. "Screw you, bitch."  
"Jerk."  
How long had it been since they'd done that?  
Too long. Too long.  
"Excuse me, but..." There was a short man off to the side of the TARDIS looking as if he'd been shot, he was so confused. He was short and had short fair hair. He wore a dark jacket with brown shoulder pads and jeans.  
"There's a strange man talking to himself over there," Castiel pointed out, and the Doctor looked at both men with curiosity. The man off to the side was talking frantically to himself and pacing. He had a mass of wavy charcoal hair, a blue scarf, and a long black trenchcoat.  
"Oh, wonderful, people!" The Doctor held his hand out to the fair haired man with a grin. "Pleasure to meet you! Seriously, you're the only other person I've seen besides these three." The man took the hand quietly, and looked as if he were struggling to find something to say.  
"Who are you?" A quick voice asked. The man with the scarf walked quickly over to them, roaming his eyes over them. "John, step away from them."  
"But-" the short man interrupted.  
_"John!"_ The man rose his voice, and the shorter man fell silent, startled. He blinked rapidly and looked insulted. But he did what he asked.  
"You three," he pointed at them savagely. "American. Used to hard living. Poor childhoods. Stressful lives. Very stressful. You," he pointed at Sam, "you're gravely ill and these people don't know how to help you. You just met this man-" he pointed to the Doctor "-and you two are brothers. You're hunters of some sort, above average physical conditioning, and you have problems sleeping. All of you are very protective of one another, obviously from your stances. At some point in your lives you've been tortured for a long period of time, and have reached breaking points of your mental capabilities." Sam and Dean shared an awkward look and hunched their shoulders. The Doctor raised an eyebrow, mouthing the word torture with compassion in his eyes. "You're tense and aware of your surroundings- and have weapons on your persons. You two- older clothing, no hair products, slight smell-"  
"Excuse me?" Dean barked. The dark haired man powered on.  
"-indicate you don't shower as regularly as necessary nor do you have the money, indicating you live on the road, although recently you've had more permanent accommodation. You both frequently deal with grief and are recovering addicts of something. You are dangerous." He looked at Castiel. "You must have some sort of psychological illness because you seem much too reserved. You have secrets. You fight as frequently as these two do and you stand protectively around them like a warrior or soldier. You are also dangerous. And you..." He gazed at the Doctor, cocking his head. "I can't read you...hardly anything about you is clear and consistent..." Instead of all knowing he looked intrigued and slightly frustrated. "Who are you?"  
There was a silence as every single man there stood dumbstruck, staring at the dark haired man like he had just told them he was the love child of Jesus and a Timelord.  
"What the fu-" Dean started to say, until the Doctor clapped uncontrollably.  
"Well, that was impressive!" the Doctor shouted. He bounded over to the man and peered at him. He stared back, and grey eyes met.  
"Interesting," they said in unison.  
"Alright, someone tell me what's going on!" the short one shouted, overcoming his bewilderment and becoming quite overwhelmed.  
"I second that motion," Sam said. Dean nodded vigorously.  
"Do you have anything to do with the disappearance of everyone in London?" The dark haired man accused the Doctor, who stepped back as bewilderment swept over him.  
"Everyone is gone?" the Doctor whispered, surprise and horror flitting across his features. His forehead instantly lined in thought and overwhelming concern.  
"I don't sense any other humans here either," Cas muttered. Sam spun in a slow circle surveying the empty street he had imagined in his head to be loud, rambunctious and full of life.  
Dean sighed. And here's where the bullshit starts. "No shit, sherlock. It's like a ghost town. Just like Wycatt." _  
"What did you say?"_

The two British strangers stared at Dean with bewilderment, although the dark haired one looked more suspecting than confused.  
"Huh?" Dean asked. He struggled to come up with a way to describe how they had traveled so quickly. He looked at Sam for help but he just shrugged, his eyes fixed on the dark haired man. "Oh, we came from...well, we came from this place in Montana and it didn't have any people either." He shifted awkwardly, uncomfortable with suddenly being the center of attention.  
"That's relevant," Sherlock replied emotionlessly, "but what did you say before that?"  
"What, 'no shit sherlock'?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "I thought you Brits would understand that reference...after all, didn't it originate here? Sherlock? In the U.S. it's a metaphor. It means smart-ass."  
"It what?" the shorthaired man asked. Then he burst out laughing. "I had no idea that it would influence so much in the States!" He tried to stop laughing by covering his mouth but it only muffled his voice.  
"Why would my name mean 'smart-ass'?" he asked, sounding slightly insulted. He walked closer to the Winchesters.  
"Wait, what?" The four from the TARDIS all did a double-take. The shorter man stopped laughing as he viewed all their expressions.  
"Did you say your name was Sherlock? As in..." Sam's breath trembled as he inhaled. "It makes sense...Is your name Sherlock Holmes?"  
"Yes..." Sherlock looked briefly confused. "How do you know that?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you spies? Moriarty? Mycroft? Did my brother send you?"  
"No. Friggin. Way," Dean said, for the second time today. His mouth dropped with an audible pop.  
"That's impossible," the Doctor said, his eyebrows raising all the way to his hair. He jerked out his screwdriver and waved it about, and Sherlock looked awkward and curious, his eyes following the buzzing, glowing tool analytically.  
"Dean, is that who you frequently reference when someone is being smart?" Castiel wasn't as shocked as the other three, but even he knew that Sherlock Holmes wasn't someone you met on the street every day.  
"It can't be. That's impossible," Dean insisted, eyes wide with absolute denial. "Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character."  
"What?" The fair haired man asked at the same time as Sherlock. "No...my blogs are real stories."  
"That's-" Sherlock paused infinitesimally and his eyes became grey slits, "-moronic. I'm obviously not 'fictional'. I'm a real person. Why would you even suggest something so insane?"  
If the shorter man was confused before, he was way more now. "If he were a fictional character, don't you think I'd know about it? Hell, I've been living with him for the past year." The man next to the TARDIS crossed his arms.  
"Wait a minute...if that's Sherlock Holmes...that's means-" Dean started.  
"You're John Watson," Sam gasped. "Holy shit."  
John blinked. "Yeah," he said slowly. "How'd you guess my name? And why is that such a big deal?"  
"Impossible!" the Doctor continued to insist, flitting from Sherlock to John, wildly and thrusting the screwdriver to his eye level.  
"Unbelievable," Dean groaned, turning around and putting his hands on his head. "This is too crazy, Sam, too fucking weird." Sam stepped towards Sherlock, unable to believe his eyes.  
"Dean, I must check. To see if the rest of the world is...gone." Castiel took one last concerned look at the scene. His teeth with gritted.  
"Fine, fine!" Dean sighed. Sam nodded at Cas and there was the sound of angels wings as he disappeared.  
"Oh my God!" John gasped, looking past the Doctor. "Where, where did that man go to?! He just disappeared! That's..."  
"Impossible?" Dean asked sarcastically. "Welcome to our shoes. Relax, he's an angel." Dean shrugged. "It's how he gets around."  
"A what?!"  
"I must be going mad," Sherlock whispered. He just couldn't make sense of the disappearing man. "It's finally happened. Or maybe I overdosed and I'm hallucinating. That's more preferable. Unless I'm dying, that would be unfortunate."  
"Sherlock Holmes..." Sam extended a hand, and Sherlock shook it numbly. "It's an honor to meet you...even if you aren't real. I've read every single one of your mysteries. You are the world's most famous detective."  
"Famous...really? How convincing. Of course I'm real. Of that I'm absolutely positive," Sherlock growled stubbornly. He took Sam's hand and turned it over, analyzing the rough palm with faint curiosity. Sam let him, intrigued in Sherlock's mental process. He had thought about meeting Sherlock Holmes as a kid hundreds of times. Now that he was right in front of the man- he was amazed.  
"Why would you think we were fictional characters?" John wondered aloud. "My blogs haven't got enough hits to be world famous..." He pondered to himself as his blond brow slanted downwards.  
"Because you aren't real! Not where we're from!" Dean exclaimed. John jumped, startled. "You two are detectives. You live at 221B Baker Street, your landlady's name's Mrs. Hudson, your archenemy's Moriarty, you have an older brother named Mycroft. You are all Victorian characters from mystery novels written decades ago!"  
Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother, a small smile on his face. "Who's the nerd now, huh?"  
"Shut up, Sam," Dean grunted.  
"How could you possibly know that?" John asked.  
"Because I met your creator," the Doctor said, reading the sonic screwdriver one last time. "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Brilliant man- solved a few crimes of his own. I helped once, great fun, it was, he was a real sport-"  
"Enough!" Sherlock shouted. Wind rustled through his black locks like his mood had personified the air around him. "This. Is. Ridiculous. You could have gathered this information from your surroundings and my inquiries- it's no large step. But to assume I'm the work of a Victorian man is-" Anger radiated off the detective. "Do I look like I'm fictional?"  
"No..." Sam said. "You look totally real. You feel real too."  
Sherlock threw his hands up in the air melodramatically. "Then reach the obvious conclusion that John and I exist. It's simple."  
"Well, there's no arguing with that logic," the Doctor said. "You certainly seem like Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps we're in an alternative universe."  
Dean laughed. When the Doctor didn't, he shifted his jaw. "Wait, really?" Dean asked. "You're not being sarcastic right now? We really are in another dimension? I didn't know the TARDIS could do that."  
"Possibly. Got any other ideas? How else can we be standing and talking to two of the most renowned and famous fictional characters in all of human history?" The Doctor ducked into the TARDIS, rambling about scientific nonsense Dean didn't understand.  
"All human history?" John croaked. "Wow. Are you sure you have the right detectives of 221B Baker Street?" He pressed his palm to his forehead, looking all the sudden very nervous.  
"I still don't understand who you people are," Sherlock yelled. "And I always know everything about everybody!" This obviously irked Sherlock to no end.  
"Take a chill pill, man," Dean said, holding out his hands in a calming gesture, despite the turmoil in his own mind. The Doctor leapt outside of the TARDIS again and closed his eyes, a gust of air from his lips brushing the hair out of his eyes. "I'm Dean Winchester. That's my brother Sam. That weirdo there's the Doctor. He's a time travelling alien who gave us this ride from Montana to here in a split second in that police box." Sherlock and John's mouths fell open.  
"Pleasure," the Doctor said, straightening and shaking John's hand.  
"I wonder if that's what we looked like," Sam muttered to Dean. Dean shrugged with a "probably-worse" look.  
There was the beating of wings and Castiel appeared next to John and the Doctor. John jumped. "And that's Castiel. You can call him Cas for short."  
John reached out and slowly poked Castiel, as if convinced his finger would go through him or he would vanish again. Castiel hardly noticed.  
"So you can travel through time and space." The Doctor paused for a moment, and his gaze was drawn to the TARDIS. "Nah. I still love my beautiful girl."  
"Everywhere," Cas gasped out, his blue eyes wide. "Everyone everywhere. They're all gone!"  
"What?!" All talk stopped and every pair of eyes fixed on the suddenly very animated angel.  
"I tried to contact the other angels. There was no reply. And I am barred from Heaven."  
"Why would the angels lock you out?" Sam asked. "They've never done that before. Not even during the apocalypse."  
"I have no idea. They only keep out the angels to protect Heaven when there is a supreme threat to not only the world, but Heaven itself." Everyone there suddenly felt a chill as Castiel's words sunk in.  
"Uh-oh."


	3. Not As Empty As You Think

**Revelation**

Chapter Three- Not As Empty As You Think  


"So...do you really have two hearts?" John asked the Doctor. His grey eyes had been stuck wide long enough he wondered if they would ever close again. "Sorry. It's just that I'm a doctor myself..." John's voice faded as he regarded the scrawny man next to him with wonder.  
The Doctor beamed at him, used to human fascination. "Oh, that's right! I love other doctors. But yeah. Twice the heartbeats, twice the cool." He interlocked his fingers in his lap.  
John did medical calculations on the effects of an extra heart. "Does that mean you...live longer? Or are you just like humans?" Curiosity danced in his brain and he leaned forward in his armchair.  
The Doctor laughed. "Oh, no, no, Timelords have a completely different lifespan that humans. In fact..." The Doctor paused briefly, his eyes at the ceiling, "...I'm reaching 1200 years old. I've definitely been places. As for being like humans...I've been told I got their...spirit. I guess, after protecting the Earth for so long, I stopped thinking about how different I am from humans instead of how similar." He sighed as he sank in memories.  
"How old did you say you were?" Sam sputtered, walking in on the conversation with a steaming mug in hand. His eyes were wide with awe.  
The Doctor blinked and smiled fondly. "Oh, only around 1200 Earth years. Pretty old, I expect. But I still got a few years left in this one," he said, pointing a thumb at his own chest.  
_"Only _1200? Doctor, you look younger than me!" With a free hand, Sam pulled a wooden chair from the side of the room and dragged it over to John and the Doctor and sat. John was in his armchair and the Doctor perched on a steady round table.  
"I know. I've got that natural glow." Sam chuckled and handed the Doctor the tea.  
"Here. You have this. I'm not much of a tea-drinker myself." Sam's face wrinkled in distaste. The Doctor rolled his eyes.  
"Ah, Americans. I can't live without tea," John said, with a small smile.  
"Do you guys have any coffee?" Dean called loudly from the kitchen. "All I see are craploads of tea bags."  
"How is Sherlock...reacting to this? You seem to be handling it pretty well," The Doctor asked after accepting the tea. He seemed impressed with John's easy acceptance.  
"Try the upper cupboard! There's beer in the refrigerator if you'd rather have that!" John called. Then he turned to the Doctor. "He's...well. He's working through it. Last I checked he was 'testing' your friend Castiel."  
"Testing him?" Sam asked tentatively. "Testing him how...?"  
"I think he's making him...take him places." At least there was one thing John was skeptical about, Sam thought.  
"Sherlock's making Cas transport around London?" Sam asked with a snort. "I guess that's a way of seeing his abilities first hand." He sighed, and a question formed itself in his mind. "So how is it...living with the one and only consulting detective?"  
John laughed briefly and shook his head. "It's not exactly easy. He's kind of a prat."  
The Doctor laughed. "Sounds familiar," he said quietly to himself.  
"I know how that feels," Sam sighed. "But he's Sherlock Holmes. I mean, isn't it fun solving crimes with one of London's most brilliant minds?"  
"Isn't it fun hunting monsters?" John asked rhetorically. Sam frowned. "But you're right. He's brilliant, he really is. He's just...challenging is all. He can tell everything about you with one look. He never stops looking for his next case, and sometimes being so emotionless affects his conscience. He's capable of a lot of things, but he also isn't very sociable. Being his..." John wondered if friend was the best word for what he was to Sherlock. But Sherlock was John's friend, after all this time, and decided it was fitting enough. "...Being his friend is difficult. But exciting, too, I'll give you that." John gave that small smile again.  
"Yeah," Sam said, nodding knowingly. "I can imagine..." His smile faded and he seemed to grow paler.  
"IS THIS A DISMEMBERED FOOT?!"  
Dean's voice from the kitchen was horrified and almost shook the walls. The three burst out laughing. The Doctor spilled his tea and leapt off the table as the hot liquid with a yelp. Then he laughed harder.  
"See what I mean?" John asked, trying to wipe his smile of his face. "Sorry about that, Dean!"  
Sam got to his feet and gave a relaxed sigh. "I haven't laughed this hard in a long time. Even though every soul on the Earth disappeared..." Guilt etched on his face at the lapse of memory. "We really need to figure that out."  
"For a moment I almost forgot," John admitted, and a chill passed down his spine. His eyes moved towards the window.  
"I haven't," the Doctor said, his voice firm and slow. "I've been trying to work it out. But nothing fits...I mean, if the whole world, or at least, both of our dimensions, are empty, why are we still here? I believe it may have been why the TARDIS was acting so strangely. Is it possible..." The Doctor walked over to the apartment window and looked through the clear glass with a perplexed expression on his face. "...that our universes have collided? And as a result, everyone- except us six, apparently- has been erased to keep universal pairs from meeting, or simply because our worlds are disintegrating and people were the first thing to go?"  
John blinked. This was way over his head.  
"Hell if I know," Sam said. "Today's been...pretty weird."  
"You're not kidding," the Doctor agreed, his demeanor still thoughtful and half lost in his brain.  
Noting that the Doctor wanted quiet to think, Sam moved towards the kitchen to help Dean find some coffee.  
"Cap," The Doctor muttered. "I need a thinking cap." Next to the door, the Doctor noticed a coat rack, and next to Sam and Dean's jackets, was a brown deerstalker cap.  
"Ooh," he said. He tramped quickly over to the rack and scooped up the cap, then as if it were a cowboy hat he shoved it down over his brown hair and smiled.  
"Sherlock uses it if there's press outside," John said. "He doesn't like it much."  
"That's ridiculous." The Doctor slid over to the blond doctor with a grin. "Deerstalker caps are very, very cool."

"Why are you staring at me?" Castiel asked Sherlock, who had held his gaze for about twenty minutes now as they sat on a bench in the middle of Charing Cross station.  
"Does my staring bother you?" Sherlock asked cryptically. He examined the angel next to him with unabashed scrutiny.  
Cas shifted on the bench uneasily. "No. Not entirely. Most humans just don't...stare as you do." There was a moment of silence. Completely enveloping silence. The only noise in the entire room was the sound of Sherlock's breathing and the wailing wind above their heads.  
Sherlock leaned backwards on the bench. "I'm not like most humans," he said calmly.  
Cas nodded in agreement. "You are definitely not. Sam, Dean, the Doctor...Sam and Dean were never like most humans. They had too difficult a life. And the Doctor isn't a human anyway. You are, though, the most...angel like human I've ever encountered."  
Sherlock raised a raven brow. "And how is that, Castiel?" He hadn't not expected to be compared to a heavenly entity. A miniscule smile swept over his sharp features.  
"You are...very emotionless in some ways." Castiel dropped his gaze and his eyes wandered around the empty halls of the atriums in the station. Sherlock's small smile faded. "You are also incredibly insightful. And when you aren't expressionless you are distant from everyone else. Except for with Dr. Watson. You are friends with him, just like I am with Sam and Dean. I have troubles though...connecting." His deep voice fell short. "Socializing isn't very...easy for me."  
Sherlock laughed breathily, casting his eyes finally off the angel. "You're more human than you realize, Castiel." He got to his feet, and swept back his long coat. "Let's return to the apartment."  
Castiel nodded. "Very well. We must find a way to resolve this dimensional problem."  
"Another case..." Sherlock smiled. "And I have the suspicion that this one will keep my attention much longer than that mundane goldfish case."

John got to his feet and stretched his legs with a small groan. He hadn't felt a pain in his leg for a long time but whenever circulation was lost, it always felt felt the prickle of blood flowing down his legs and shuffled into the kitchen, where Sam and Dean had cleared of a spot at the table (by dumping all the cluttering paper in Sherlock's armchair...he wouldn't be pleased) and were talking in low tones with freshly brewed coffee in hand.  
"Do you think Sherlock and Castiel will be back soon?" John inquired of the brothers.  
Dean looked up and shrugged. "I have no idea. Castiel isn't actually the world's most punctually on time angel. As for Sherlock...I don't even know the guy...but honestly he doesn't sound that punctual either, no offense." John shrugged with an 'oh-you-have-no-idea' look on his face. "Why? Are you worried?"  
"Oh, no, Sherlock can take care of himself," John said assuredly. "He's been in several dangerous situations and come out without a scratch." He reached for a teapot on the stove and made to refill it with water.  
John liked the Winchesters. They reminded of him of some buddies he had back in Afghanistan. They had been wild and crazy off-duty and strong and determined in battle. Looking at the Winchesters not only made him think of them, but reminded him of himself. The way that war wearied young men but made them stick to the game because they felt not only like it was their duty, but that they couldn't do without the constant adrenaline running their veins and a new adventure on every doorstep.  
"Where's the Doctor?" Sam asked.  
"He went outside in the TARDIS...which I very much would like to see inside sometime, by the way." John flicked on the sink and water poured out into a steady stream into the pot.  
"Oh, yeah, it's awesome." Sam grinned at the memory of the TARDIS's interior. He sipped his coffee lightly.  
"Yeah...if you love Star Trek," Dean said. Sam glared at him and Dean rolled his eyes. "But no...It's pretty wicked. I guess if you go for flying...high tech things." Dean took a big gulp of joe and tried not to cough too hard as it scalded his throat.  
There was the sound of wings brushing through air, and Castiel and Sherlock appeared next to John, who jumped and almost spilled the just-filled tea kettle.  
"Hello, John," Sherlock said, smiling wickedly in that irritating way that made people think he knew something everyone else didn't- which was usually the case.  
"Hello, Dr. Watson," Castiel said quietly.  
"Please, call me John," John replied, setting the kettle on the stove and turning the knob for flame. "Did you enjoy your trip, Sherlock?" He smiled his small smile awkwardly in an attempt to hide his relief that Sherlock had returned safe.  
"Yes," Sherlock said, his smile drawing a cool light into the detective's eyes. John recognized that light. The eager, thrill seeking glitter he always got when a particularly stimulating case came his way. And John had to say, their predicament certainly took the cake. "It was very enlightening." He gazed around. "Is the Doctor in his flying mechanism?"  
"Yeah, he's in the TARDIS," Dean informed him.  
"TARDIS..." Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed.  
"It stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space," Castiel said, turning and walking towards the window, gazing down at the TARDIS thoughtfully.  
"Ah, an witty acronym...naturally." Sherlock shrugged off his jacket and laid it on his armchair, raising an eyebrow at the stack of huge papers that used to be on the table.  
"Where did you go, anyway?" Sam asked quickly.  
"Everywhere," Sherlock said, meeting Sam's deep green eyes. "Most recently Charing Cross. Castiel is a very efficient traveler."  
"I guess so, yeah," Dean muttered, and took a smaller swig of coffee.  
_"Doctor!" _There was the sound of wings and before anyone had a chance to look Castiel disappeared.  
"Cas!" Dean yelled, and the Winchesters leapt to their feet. Sherlock and John ran to the window, and Sam and Dean took the other window and they all peered outside.  
"Oh my God," John breathed. "What the hell is that?"

__xXXx

_Two Minutes Earlier _  
The Doctor closed the door of his TARDIS with something like defeat. How on Earth was he supposed to separate two melding dimensions? What was causing the convergence? And if he found the cause could he fix it, would it return all the people to their proper dimensions? With a sigh, the Doctor leaned against the TARDIS, with questions buzzing in his head and weariness edging into his limbs.  
The Doctor jerked himself into the world again as he realized how pessimistic his train of thought had grown. "Oh, don't be so depressing!" he yelled at himself. He sat up and pranced across the street. "I'll fix this, just like I fix everything. I'm the Doctor! I've earned that name. I'll fix this mess, fix Sam Winchester, and I won't be companionless anymore!" I may even have more than one companion, he thought. After Amy and Rory- the Doctor's throat tightened at the thought of his most recently lost friends- he'd felt pieces of himself slip away. The pieces that made him good and kept him from doing harm instead of hurting. And meeting the Winchesters, Cas...even John and Sherlock- The Doctor felt more like himself than he had in a long time. It felt good, like he had found his purpose again. Save the Earth from imminent destruction. Make interesting friends to help him do it.  
The Doctor turned, looking down the street at the horizon of grey.  
"Ah...that's not good. That's very, very not good. Definitely bad..." _Dimensional collapse. _The proof was in the sky itself.  
The rupture in the clouds was only a few shades lighter than the surrounding London sky. It expanded across the entire horizon, like a effervescent ring or a rip in a white sheet. The edges were fluctuating and feathery, like celestial eyelashes blinking in slow motion. At the end of his vision, just beneath the dimensional fracture, the Doctor could see fog. Endless, enveloping fog.  
Definitely very not good.  
Suddenly, a sound drifted through the air from behind him. A sound of roaring wind, and the Doctor looked up in time with a gasp to see a massive cloud of black smoke, fierce and unnatural, coming at him like a train.  
_ "Very not good!" _the Doctor cried, eyes popping wide and taking faltering steps backwards.  
"Doctor!" There was the sound of flapping angel wings through the air and Castiel's hand was on his shoulder.  
"Castiel!"  
The Doctor barely had time to blink before he appeared in the apartment of 221B Baker Street behind the other four, who were peering out the window.  
_ "Demons," _the Doctor heard Sam and Dean growl.  
"What?" John gasped.  
Sherlock whirled and faced the Winchesters. "What do we do?" Sherlock demanded. "Give me instructions- what do we do to keep it out?"  
"There's nothing you can do- we don't have time to give you a step-by-step set of instructions!" Dean yelled.  
"We must act quickly! They'll enter the apartment the second they recognize my angelical energy." Castiel pulled out his spear, and Sam pulled out his demon-killing knife. "It was coming for the Doctor. That is out of the question!"  
"Oh, shit!" Dean spat. "If a demon got his hands on the Doctor we can kiss our asses goodbye!"  
"Got his hands on me?" the Doctor asked. He ran up to Dean, his eyes fiery."You Winchesters haven't exactly explained what the demons actually do, besides the average demonic evil."  
"Doctor," Sam said, boring his eyes into the Timelord. "You cannot let that smoke come anywhere near you. How demons wreak their havoc is they possess people. And if that demon possesses you-"  
"A creature of Hell possessing a seemingly immortal alien with the ability to travel through time and space?" Dean asked, shaking his head.  
Sherlock clenched his fists. "Practically unlimited power in an accessible form."  
The Doctor turned pale. Really pale. "Oh."  
Sam darted for the kitchen. "John! Got any paint?!"  
"I- no-" John stammered. He yanked his desk cabinet open and pulled out his army revolver.  
"That won't help anyone," Dean warned him. John exchanged glances with Sherlock and placed the gun back down on the desk.  
"Fine," Sam growled. He yanked up his blue long sleeve shirt and cut a line into his skin with the knife, hissing as he did so. Blood poured out of the wound.  
"What are you doing?" the Doctor gasped. He hated watching people hurt themselves.  
Sam rubbed his blood all over his fingers and began drawing on the windows, demon warding symbols. "This will keep us hidden from the demons," Sam said. "But we don't have much time. Dean-"  
"On it!" Dean was crouched on the wooden floor. Dean had a normal knife out, and was scratching a carving hard, creating a huge demon's trap in the wood. "I feel naked, man, I don't have any holy water or even a decent weapon!"  
"How is it possible that out of everyone in our two worlds, demons still linger?" Sherlock asked. He and John were staring out the window, watching the funnel of black smoke fly around the TARDIS, as if inspecting it. But it couldn't enter the machine.  
"I don't know!" the Doctor yelled. "I'm not exactly familiar with demons and their dimensional ties! I'm more equipped to handle Weeping Angels or Cybermen or Daleks!"  
"Yeah, I don't know what any of those things are," Dean said, walking quickly towards the Timelord who was not handling the whole 'possession' thing well. "Doctor! Unbutton your shirt."  
"Do what?" The Doctor asked incredulously.  
"JUST DO IT!"  
"Right!" the Doctor yelled, obliging Dean's command. _I'm not used to taking orders, _he thought.  
"Sherlock, you have a marker?"  
"Yes," Sherlock said, snatching a Sharpie from John's desk immediately and tossing it at Dean, who caught it, uncapped it, and yanked down the Doctor's shirt to reveal a bare shoulder blade. Then he started drawing a protection rune.  
"What are you doing?" John asked.  
"He's drawing some sort of rune to protect the Doctor," Sherlock said. "What can we do?"  
"Pray," Castiel said darkly. "They're coming."  
Sam was halfway through the second window when the smoke sped towards the apartment like a bullet.  
"Duck!" he yelled, and everyone hit the floor as the funnel of smoke dove through the glass, shattering the pane into a million pieces and showering it over Sam, Sherlock, and John. The smoke circled and spun, out of the devil's trap's line, heading straight for the Doctor. He skittered backward, eyes wide with fear. But in the last second, Dean had completed the rune. The Doctor was safe.  
But not everyone was.  
The black smoke loomed and wrapped itself around the Doctor, but the demon realized it was impossible. The Doctor yelped, and the smoke unfurled, this time heading at astonishing speed for the other genius in the room.

"Sherlock, look out!" John shoved Sherlock viciously to the right.  
"John!" Sherlock cried, knocking over a chair and landing hard onto the wood floor. But John couldn't reply.  
His eyes grew wide and he stumbled backwards against the wall and slumped against the desk. The demonic smoke curled up and around John's torso and eventually shot into his mouth like a coal tornado. John's body straightened like a rod and his arms fell limp at his sides.  
Thinking quickly, Sam grabbed John by the arms. To his surprise, the demon didn't struggle. Without pondering to think about it, Sam threw him into the devil's trap. John stumbled and fell on his knee in the circle, and he didn't make a sound.  
There was sudden dead silence. Sherlock watched with horror as Sam and Dean came on opposite sides of the devil's trap as John slowly, eyes closed, got back onto his feet. Castiel helped the stunned Doctor from the floor and they stared- Castiel's face was stony and the Doctor looked half expectant and half horrified.  
John's eyes were closed and he rolled back his shoulders. Popping his neck, he tilted back his head and crossed his arms.  
"Well, that was fun." The demon inside John twisted his calm voice into one unsympathetic and sinister. "Not exactly who I wanted...but this meat sack will do."  
"John," Sherlock breathed.  
"Now, Sherly," the demon said. "You and I both know that John isn't in control anymore." The demon clicked his tongue, almost in pity. He paused, as if listening. "Although he is a loud screamer. Poor prick won't shut up..."  
John's eyes flicked open, and instead of their usual grey blue they were pitch black, from the pupils to the once-white of his eyes. The demon smiled, baring his teeth.  
"Dean...Sam...how do we set John free?" the Doctor choked, overwhelmed by the sight of once calm and kind John Watson becoming this dark creature.  
"Simple exorcism," Sam said, his eyes entirely focused on the demon. It was never easy, watching a friend be possessed- it was one of the most unsettling things about his life as a hunter. He began to chant the necessary Latin rites, but John- the demon- quickly interrupted him.  
"Ah, ah, ah, Sam Winchester. Don't evict me so soon. Aren't you curious as to why every human soul has disappeared from the face of the Earth?"  
Dean's eyes narrowed and his teeth gritted. "What do you know about that?"  
"I know quite a lot. Hell of a lot more than this confused fool."  
"Shut up," Sherlock spat. His face wrinkled with poorly contained rage. His grey eyes blazed and his voice was a savage growl. "Sam, perform the exorcism. Get that leech out of John _now!_"  
"Sherlock," Castiel said quietly, a warning in his tone.  
_"What?" _Sherlock snapped. But he knew.  
Cas shared a sharp look with the enraged detective and met eyes with the demon. "What do you know of the transdimensional overlap?"  
"Well, I'm bunking in a fictional character, there's an alien in the room with his spaceship parked outside, and you are the only kind souls left on this godforsaken planet. Who do you think has that kind of power?"  
"An archangel, maybe?" Dean wondered aloud. "Sounds like Gabriel's kind of bullshit."  
"Hardly," John said with a derisive laugh. "I think it more something from your area." His black eyes drew to the Doctor.  
"My area?" the Doctor asked coldly. He heard his temper flare in his voice. The idea of this thing controlling John like a puppet on a string disgusted him.  
"Yes, you. The alien. The fresh new face."  
"I'm hardly new," he said darkly. "But neither are you, and I've never come across your kind before."  
"My my, this human paid attention in class. His memories tell me a lot about you, Doctor." He gave Sherlock a goading look, and Sherlock grimaced as he tried to control the urge to scream at Sam again. But Castiel was right- they had to hear this information, even at John's expense. The demon blinked and there were John's eyes again, but now they were sinister and cruelly amused.  
"A Timelord...the last of his kind..." He licked his lips. "You're a prime rib meat sack surrounded by highway diner hamburgers." The Doctor curled his lip at the comparison.  
"Who is responsible for the dimensional collapse?" Castiel spat, his voice commanding the demon's attention. His eyes flamed with restrained anger and even his stance revealed his true nature- he was ready to pour angelic wrath upon this demon.  
"Cutting to the chase as always, Castiel..." The demon rolled his eyes, and made an irritated noise. "Boys, it's just another apocalypse for us. We've been through this bullshit before. And not that we duck our heads and run, but us demons live up to our name- side with the one in control, wait for the shitstorm to pass, then screw them over. Unfortunately, that's not going to work this time."  
"Why not?" the Doctor asked, expression darkening.  
"Because the one with the power's been keeping us in the dark! Staying purposefully hidden and secretive," the demon said loudly. His voice was as calm as ever. _Calm before the storm, _the Doctor thought. "Did I mention that person is an alien? Yep." The humans in the room tensed with this new information. "Me being the lovely demon that I am...I did a little eavesdropping on some alien 'friends'. And what do you know, the universe is crashing into another. Fun fact of the day."  
"Awesome. More aliens," Dean muttered.  
"How do we stop this?" Sherlock pressed. "How many are there? How it is doing this?"  
The demon snapped his neck towards Sherlock. "I don't have all the answers! Keep in mind I'm the one helping you here," John snarled, his cool demeanor cracking and black eyes flashing. "It was only thirty minutes ago that I crawled hand over knee out of Hell. Imagine my surprise to see E.T. and pals- armies of them crawling through the mist- and they were the only ones left! All the demons that were occupying humans vanished too. All that's left are the few emerging from Hell and the damn Klingons. Ugly bastards, lemme tell you."  
"And how'd you find us?" Sam asked suspiciously.  
"After my little discovery, I got the hell out of Dodge, or at least as far away as possible. However, transferring dimensions wasn't part of the plan, and running into you fellows was a happy little cowinky-dink." Sam didn't look convinced. Neither did anyone else.  
"Why are you helping us?" Dean demanded. "If I were you, I'd take advantage of apocalypse number two and kill us off."  
"How naive of you to think that didn't occur to me already...But you don't get it do you? As pathetic as they are to us, demons need humans. Hell needs the souls, demon need the housing- it's a system. And the aliens are messing with the fucking system. They're erasing the damn planet into oblivion! Crowley's pissed, but he doesn't know what to do-"  
"Crowley?" Sam asked. His eyes darted around, expecting to see the King of Hell appear in the apartment. "Where's he?"  
"Where do you think? That prick is holed up in his kingdom, waiting for it to blow over and plotting petty revenge."  
"I still haven't gotten the part where you help us out," The Doctor muttered.  
"Look, you're searching for the things responsible right? Fine. The leader's at the epicenter of the planet's disintegration. He left a little island in the middle of all the fog. Guess he wanted to watch the show." The demon paused, almost in approval. "All you have to do is find him and make him squeal. Or at least, send his armies back to whatever dimension they came from."  
"Do you think we're idiots?" Sherlock snapped. "You may be telling the truth about its location, but not the whole story. It's probably surrounded by other creatures of its kind. A miniature army, perhaps?"  
The demon shrugged. "You're not a detective for nothing, are you, Sherly?" Sherlock clenched his fists as annoyance rippled through him. "Naturally the leader's not unguarded." He surveyed the brothers. "But since when has that been a problem? You Winchesters have been two stubborn pains in Hell's ass. Persistent is your middle name."  
"Yeah, well, we'll look into it. Thanks for the information," Dean said with a humorless smile. _You're outta here. _His lips stretched in an insincere grin. "We really appreciate it. But-"  
"Oh, I know," the demon said with a chilling smile. He suddenly whirled, his body moving impossibly fast as he raised John's army revolver from the folds of John's jacket and pointed it straight at Dean. Dean's eyes flickered to the desk. He had grabbed the gun when he stumbled- _sneaky son of a bitch. _Everyone froze. Sam felt his limbs lock down at the sight of the gun pointed at his older brother and he felt his fingers brush the hilt of his knife. John was his friend now, but _Dean..._ He met eyes with his older brother, who gave an infinitesimal shake of the head. _Protect the innocent. _And John was innocent. And Dean could take care of himself.  
"Devil's traps may be dampen my strength- but I can still use human toys. Figured you wouldn't be nice enough to let me stay..." The demon laughed in a way that sent chills down the men's spines. "...but I can always..." His hand slowly traveled, away from Dean...but towards John's temple.

_"No!" _Sherlock dove at the demon faster than anyone could have imagined. Sam immediately began to chant the exorcism rights as Sherlock and the demon grappled for the gun. It tilted dangerously towards John again as the demon jerked in the exorcism, bumping the gun. There was a resonant boom as the gun went off, and the bullet whizzed past the John and the Doctor, burying itself into the kitchen wall.  
Sam had all but finished the rite, but just before the demon roared out of John the gun let off a final shot. There was a cry, and Dean stumbled backwards as the pain of white hot iron sliced through his chest.  
"Dean!" Sam and Castiel yelled. The Doctor scrambled forward and caught the collapsing Winchester. John's head jerked upwards. And the demon took the express train straight back to hell.  
The following silence lasted less than a second.  
"John?" Sherlock gasped. John was limp and on his knees, his head lolling to the side and eyes closed. Sherlock gripped his friend's shoulders and shook him frantically. "John!" Terror rippled across his usually arrogant face. The others, even Dean, who was fighting unconsciousness, stared at John and Sherlock, mouths slightly agape. John's eyelids twitched.  
"Is that concern in your voice?" John croaked. Sherlock's voice caught, and the others in the room let out gusts of relief. John didn't open his eyes. "Actual concern? The world really is ending." And with that, John Watson fainted.  
"My turn," Dean moaned, his voice cracking. His eyelids fluttered. Sam nearly tripped dashing to his brother's side.  
"Dean, Dean, you're going to be fine," the Doctor choked. The sight of blood rushing down Dean's side, the sudden gory violence of it all rattled his brain and horror washed over his youthful face like waves on a beach. He tried to stop Dean's bleeding, cupping the wound on his abdomen. _So much, so much _too _much, _his mind whispered. Blood seeped through Dean's green shirt and the Doctor's hands.  
"Yeah, I know," Dean rasped, and he gave the Doctor a painful grimace that was supposed to be a reassuring smile.  
_"Castiel!" _Sam nearly screamed. Realistically, he knew that the angel could heal his brother but watching him in such pain was like nails ripping through his stomach. Castiel was kneeling beside his friend immediately, placing a hand on Dean's wound. Dean made a hurt, quiet noise and trembled. Castiel's eyes flared from an ocean blue to a heavenly, piercing white. There was the blinding, burning flash of light and Dean sucked air through his teeth. Everyone shielded their eyes from the light..  
"Thanks, Cas," Dean said as the light faded, his voice now much less pained. He sat up and gingerly touched the healed wound. The Doctor, shocked into silence, whipped his head from the angel to the older Winchester with relief and wonder mixed on his face._Incredible._ His mouth floundered for words.  
"How- how-" the Doctor stuttered. _"Amazing." _  
"Thanks, Cas," Sam said faintly. He tried to control his ragged breathing, but his throat seized like it couldn't get enough oxygen. Heat surged beneath his skin and he felt sweat break out on his forehead. Get control, his mind urged. Now is not the time to concern anyone. He got to his feet, a little wobbly in more ways that one, and walked over to Sherlock, who was helping the unconscious John onto the couch. Exchanging glances with the dark haired detective, Sam grabbed an arm and helped ease John down.  
"You okay?" Sam asked him, his eyes softening sensitively. He knew that for anyone, even for the great Sherlock Holmes, the first demon experience was always traumatizing. Instead, Sherlock's curled his lip as if the insinuation that he was anything other was actually insulting.  
"I'm perfectly fine," Sherlock snapped, his voice like slate. But then he sighed. "Your brother?" His voice was taut and regal, as it had been before the attack. For now, Holmes was back to normal.  
"Also fine. Everybody...everybody's okay." He felt his own relief grow upon saying it. He licked his dry lips.  
"Except you."  
Sam leveled glances with Sherlock, stillness falling between the two tall men. Sherlock's stormy grey eyes bored into Sam, and he looked away as if ashamed that he was ill. _Leave it alone, _he thought. Sherlock was smart enough to recognize how defensive Sam was._Hopefully he's smart enough to keep quiet about it. _  
"I'm perfectly fine," Sam echoed, and turned to attend his brother, leaving Sherlock staring after him.


	4. The Doctor Calls for Backup

**Chapter Four**

The Doctor Calls For Backup  
  
"I can't believe I'm saying this- I mean, I never say this...but I think we may need some help." The Doctor looked almost depressed, like it was a submission of defeat, but then he sighed and curled his lip in a grin. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed number 2 on his speed dial.  
"There's no connection." Sherlock was standing at the window, eyeing the coming fog. "Though I'm sure you'll find a way around that," he muttered to himself. Night had fallen over London, and the mist was still creeping down the street. The moon wasn't visible and the night was overcast. Pitch black was the only color outside- even the London streetlights weren't on. No operators, no people to turn on their lights, no headlights from cars barreling down the street.  
"Don't need it," the Doctor said dismissively, his eyes glinting jovially.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Naturally. _  
"Who are you calling? I don't see how, if everyone has disappeared, someone could answer," Castiel said from a small wooden chair, who was eyeing a cup of tea suspiciously. The strong smelling, steaming liquid seemed to stare back from the coffee table, and he could see his own unconvinced reflection as if he were looking in a brown mirror. Dean pushed the cup towards him daringly, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. His jean-encased legs were propped up casually on the long table in front of the couch.  
"Drink it," Dean instructed. Plopping his booted feet onto the ground, he leaned close to Cas over the coffee table between them, weaving his head side to side. His eyebrows jumped up and down. "Do it. You'll like it."  
"I doubt that," Castiel grumbled, but his fingers gripped the small cup delicately. He sniffed it gingerly, and Dean tried to stifle a snicker.  
"The person I'm calling, if my hypothesis is correct, won't be affected by the multidimensional convergence."  
"Which is who?" Dean asked.  
"His wife," Sherlock answered simply. "Obviously."  
Dean had been sipping his own cup of coffee in attempt to conceal his amusement, but it all sprayed out of his mouth as he started sputtering. "What?" he asked after clearing his throat repeatedly. "Doc...are you... _married?" _Castiel lifted a hand and steadily wiped Dean's coffee spittle from his face, blinking furiously and eyebrows creasing.  
"Good guess," the Doctor said, grinning widely. "How?"  
"'Never say this'? Top number on speed dial? Who else but a woman?" Sherlock's face was blank, but his rich voice was slightly amused.  
"I can't believe it," Dean said, shaking his head. "You don't look exactly like the settling down type."  
"Surprises me too sometimes..." The Doctor smiled, and a small gusty laugh blew from his lips.  
"You're too- well, you _look _too young. To tie the knot, I mean. Plus you know..."  
"I travel the entirety of time and space and frequently save the world? Yes. River and I don't exactly have an average marital relationship..." Confusion flickered across Dean's face. The Doctor took note of it as he held the phone up to his ear. "She travels too."  
"Oh." Curiosity glimmered in his eyes. "River, huh?" Dean quirked a grin. "Must be some kind of gal."  
"You have no idea," the Doctor said with a knowing smile. "I think you'll like her, Dean. You two share a similar pension for...weaponry." Dean's eyebrows shot to his hairline and laughed hard.  
"Now I really want to meet her." Dean paused, looking around the room. "I gotta tell Sam this little tidbit." He blinked. "Scratch that. Bathroom." He got to his feet, brushing an amused eye over the now coffee-bespeckled Castiel. "Uh, sorry about that." He walked off to the bathroom where he could finally let a wild grin spread across his face, and he laughed silently, both shoulders shaking.  
"It was...nothing." When Dean left the room, Castiel took the cup of tea, and with the smallest smile, poured it into Dean's coffee cup and stood up.  
"I'm going to check on John," he muttered, his voice as deep and powerful as always, but this time with almost inaudible humor. They had moved him into his bedroom after they were sure he was fine and dozing.  
"He's fine," Sherlock stated imperiously. "He's a soldier, he's been in rough times before."  
Castiel gazed at the austere man for a moment, expression sliding off his face like water. "All the same, I will check on him," he replied. Sherlock closed his eyes and the Doctor could have sworn the usually stony two were similarly somber. He would've said something light or off topic but just as he opened his mouth the ringing stopped and a smooth voice answered. Castiel waited, listening carefully. He had strong enough hearing to catch the ring.  
The answerer didn't even ask who it was. "Sweetie." The voice was audacious and entertained. "You calling me? This must be a special occasion."  
"Hello, River," the Doctor said, struggling to keep his pride from puffing out in his words and the corners of his lips twitched in the effort. He shoved a thumb under his suspender and rubbed it thoughtfully. Sherlock's eye caught the movement and he gave the Doctor a supercilious grin. The Doctor gave him a faux, reassuring smile in return.  
River's sleek laugh could be heard on the other side of the line. "Ooh, this is hard for you isn't it? You're not exactly the kind of man to ask for help. That's one of the things I love about you."  
"River," the Doctor said, his voice growing in intensity.  
"What is it, love?" River immediately recognized the urgency in her husband's voice. "How bad is it?"  
"Very," the Doctor said. His jaw tightened. "I...need you. Here. As soon as possible."  
"An ASAP, hmm?" River lost her seriousness and the Doctor could practically see her cocking her head, eyes sparkling daringly. "I'll be there as soon as I can."  
"Do you know my location?" He couldn't completely hide his relief and a small bit of tension chipped from the Doctor's mind. He walked over to John's armchair and lightly sat down.  
"Oh, Doctor, do you even have to ask?" There was a delighted laugh and the line went dead.  
"River?" The Doctor gave an amused sigh and his arm fell from his ear to land in his lap. "That's my River." He met eyes with the aloof detective who'd been silently observing him the whole conversation.  
"She'll be here soon," the Doctor informed him, unnecessarily.  
"I gathered that," Sherlock said, turning and walking into the kitchen.

_So that's what John meant by Sherlock being a prat. Well, I guess some of my companions would say the same about me._

xXXx

John awoke to the sight of Sam Winchester dozing softly in a chair next to his bed. The stress was gone from his usually tense features and his head was slanted on the neck of the armchair. Sam's longish hair was disheveled. His mouth was slightly agape and the absence of constant thought left his brow smooth. For a moment he looked ten years younger and John wondered how much of a toll the Trials took on him- never mind his troublesome life. He had his knife in hand and John pondered why he would be watching over him so protectively.  
_How did I even get here? _he thought. He was sprawled out on his bed, without any blankets and fully clothed. He sat up in bed, his most recent memories blank. Out the window he saw only black and speculated the time. The last thing he could remember was Castiel yelling out for the Doctor and then-  
_ Bam. _  
The memories hit him like a ton of bricks.  
"Oh, God," he breathed, his voice barely penetrating the blanket of silence covering the room. His breathing quickened a frozen snapshots of memory ricocheted through his mind. Bits and pieces of shredded scenes collided in his brain- window, smashed. Black smoke. Sherlock falling. Then..._I wasn't me anymore, _he thought. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead at the recollection of his...paralysis inside his own body. He'd been voiceless, cut off any movement. He beat against the invisible walls in his head as the demon, that disgusting, horrific creature raked through his memories with a deadly efficiency. It grabbed all the info John knew, about the Doctor and the TARDIS. And it spoke, spoke with John's voice.  
It told them of the aliens- the creatures. The aliens that had infiltrated their dimensions and erased their people. Impossible things.  
And suddenly the demon had his army pistol. The bastard pointed it at Dean...but then drew it towards his own head...then Sherlock grabbed the gun! The memory hit him with a jolt and John felt the memory bring a cold, icy feeling in his heart. Something went wrong...  
Dean! Dean was shot!  
"Oh, no," John choked. His stomach dropped in his chest, and he jerked up. Sam started at the abrupt movement and jolted awake with a tiny gasp.  
"John," Sam huffed, his voice still gruff with sleep. His hand snatched his knife, gripping it tightly, and raised it halfway. "Wha, what- what is it?"  
John struggled to his feet, but his limbs felt like lead. They stayed motionless on the bed. "Sam- Dean, is Dean alright? Is he-" John gulped for breath.  
Sam laughed softly, relieved that was all it was. His eyelids drooped. "No, he's- Dean's fine, John. Perfectly fine."  
"Oh. Oh, thank God." John felt as though the iron fist clutching his heart had relaxed. Relief flooded through him. He turned and his feet fell softly onto his bedroom floor. "I..." His expression grew somber as the gravity of the past couple of hours truly resonated in him.  
Sam blinked the sleep out of his eyes and leaned forward, setting the knife delicately on John's nightstand. "How are you, John?" His eyebrows creased with empathy as he viewed the haggard doctor.  
"I'm, uh...I'm okay, I suppose. I've been better..." John swallowed thickly. His throat was clogged with emotion. "I..."  
"I know," Sam said knowingly. His voice was low and reassuring, and John averted his eyes with his brow twitching. "Being possessed...it's no picnic. But...you don't need to worry. That demon is gone. _Long_ gone. And will be for a long time." John felt his mouth open to reply.  
"And don't even _think _about blaming yourself-" Sam interjected, interrupting John before he could say something. John pursed his lips with a labored sigh. "Whatever that demon did while in control of you, remember-_ it _was in control. Not you. And there's nothing you could've done to prevent or stop it."  
"But-" he said, his voice faltering. "I felt it, I felt it when he pulled the trigger, when he..." John clasped his hands and focused his eyes on his shoes.  
"Yeah. I know," Sam repeated. He sighed and rolled back his shoulders with a pop. "Trust me. Blaming yourself is no good. Pointless. You'll feel better once you realize it wasn't your fault." Sam's voice deepened. "You're lucky, though."  
_"Lucky?" _John stammered incredulously. "You're joking."  
"No, I'm not." His expression was grave. "It could have killed someone. It could have killed _you. _But no one was killed. People don't usually escape a confrontation with a demon alive."  
John looked up at Sam. "Right..." John hesitated. "Thank you."  
Confusion flickered across the younger Winchester's face. "For what?"  
"For..._exorcising _it." The word sounded funny in his mouth and came out slightly warped. He cleared his throat again.  
"Oh." Sam shrugged noncommittally. "No problem. It's our job."  
"Right," John said again. "Your job sucks."  
"Preaching to the choir," Sam said with a small snort.  
At that moment, Castiel walked inside, pushing the door open gingerly. "Hello, John."  
"Castiel," John greeted him with a small, tight smile.  
"How are you feeling?" Castiel hung back in the doorway impassively.  
"Fine." Sam inclined his head, gauging his honesty, and John inhaled deeply. "Really."  
"That is good," Castiel said. "I examined your body and mind for injuries and you seem to be in perfect health."  
"...Okay. That's...good news." John blinked slowly, trying to ignore the awkwardness of Castiel's statement.  
"He...can heal. You know, being an angel and all," Sam explained sheepishly. "He healed Dean too."  
"I see," John murmured, slightly dumbstruck. "That's...good."  
"The Doctor and Sherlock are in the living room. The Doctor called his wife and-"  
_"Wife?"_

xXXx

Sam stayed behind when Castiel and John left the bedroom. He wasn't quite ready to move yet, he was too wiped out. His dizzy spell had passed but it had left him completely drained. He caught a glimpse of himself in John's mirror and noted that at least he didn't look _quite_ as horrible as he felt.  
Fatigue settled down on Sam again, now that he was alone in the silence of the bedroom. Today had been a whirlwind of excitement and danger- not that Sam wasn't used to that, but today's brand had been a different flavor of weird. And that was saying a lot.  
Sam considered snatching a few more z's, but his dreams were too odd and there was too much going on- falling asleep made him feel almost guilty, like those few minutes of precious relaxation were minutes he could be using to save lives. But thinking that way alone was exhausting, so he decided to just sit in the silence and...breathe.  
_I'm turning into such a hippie, _Sam thought. He inhaled, but it didn't come with the relief he wanted. Every time air passed through his lungs it was like breathing in smoke- his body just wanted to spit it back out again. A cough rumbled in his chest and he tried to dampen it down, but it only made it worse. It rattled out of his chest and bounced off the walls. He winced, hoping Dean didn't hear it. His brother had enough on his plate, he didn't need to worry about Sam even more than he did.  
Which was a lot, to Sam's chagrin.  
_Constantly. _  
Not that Sam didn't worry about Dean too, it was just that Dean always shouldered every responsibility of every problem they came across, which was too many in the first place. It was ridiculous and way too stressful- if Sam had tried to do that he would have gone crazy- well, technically he did but that was beside the point under a completely different set of circumstances- years ago. Dean was such a freaking martyr.  
He gazed out the white-paned window across the room. The fog was actually quite close to the window now. It started to creep up over the building like vines on the side of a old house. _That's not normal. _Mild suspicion dangled in front of Sam's mind. Years of hunting alerted Sam to the simplest of strange things. And the way that fog moved was certainly not natural.  
Sam's hand drew steadily towards his knife, half instinctively and half precautionary. His heartbeat picked up in his chest. _Stay calm, stay calm. _  
It was only when the fog started permeating _through the glass _that Sam started losing his shit.  
"Hey, Sam, are you in here?" Sam heard his brother's voice on the outside of John's bedroom door. He shot to his feet, starting towards the door without removing his eyes from the window.  
There was a crack- sharp blue light rippled through the fog, and the hairs on Sam's arms and neck stood up. The thrum of energy could be heard in the air and Dean tried the doorknob. It wouldn't open. The mist continued to leak through the window as if it weren't there. It moved at astonishing speed, seeping through the room and eventually touching the bed and covering the closet. Soon half the room was lost in thick, pea soup fog that could have been cut with a knife.  
"Sam? Hey? You in there? Why'd you lock the door?"  
"Dean, you better get in here," Sam said, his voice low and taut. Dean could hear the worry in his tone.  
"What's going on? Open the door." Concern filtered through Dean's voice. He tried to doorknob again, jiggling it with a growing sense of urgency.  
"Dean!" Sam's voice rose an octave as something began to materialize in the fog. "Dean! Open the door! _Hurry!" _He moved into a defensive position and backed up against the door. He tried the door himself to no avail.  
"I can't!" Dean started throwing himself against the door, and the door reverberated with the force. Yet it didn't budge. "Sam, what's going on?!"  
"The door isn't opening! There's something in here, Dean!" Sam shouted. The dark figure in the mist took a slow step forward, and the fog was getting closer and closer, depriving Sam of sight.  
"What the hell's going on?" Sam could hear John's mystified voice on the other side of the door.  
_"Castiel, get in there!" _Dean yelled, still pounding and throwing himself against the door. "Sherlock, get a gun so we can shoot off the doorknob!"  
Sam started coughing as all fog started weighing in his lungs like smoke. He waved his hand in front of his face but the fog was still and unaffected. _Oh, shit, _he thought.  
"I can't get in, something's blocking me!" Cas said, and Sam heard Dean roar with frustration. Sam heard the buzz of the sonic screwdriver and the Doctor's incessant mutterings.  
The figure in the mist was large, taller even than Sam. It seemed to grow larger with each slow step it drew towards him. He couldn't make much out except for the fact that it had a huge head and torso, and it seemed almost deformed. It raised an arm and inside a meaty hand something crackled with blue energy. It was getting way too close for comfort.  
"Dean! _Dean!" _  
It raised its hand towards Sam, whose mouth fell slack and he tensed, prepared to throw himself at the creature if he had to. His hand gripped the knife so tightly his knuckles turned white.  
_"Sammy!"_

xXXx

Sherlock ran forward with his own gun in hand. "Get out of the way," he ordered. The Doctor leapt away, a stream of incoherent sentences coming out of his mouth, and Castiel and John backed away, their faces tight with urgency. Dean gave one last try at the door, and inside he could hear Sam shouting frantically.  
_"Move!" _Sherlock raised the gun and Dean stepped backwards, anger and terror colliding on his face. He hardly had to aim before he fired two shots at both hinges of John's bedroom door, and another at the doorknob. There was a spark as the bullet hit the metal, but other than that no marks were left.  
"What the hell?" John gaped. "How is that possible?"  
_"DEAN!" _Sam screamed from inside the room, and Dean thrust himself at the door again. There was a loud noise inside that sounded like a lightning strike and Sam yelped. The Doctor rushed forward and instantly ran his sonic screwdriver over the door.  
"Sam!" Dean's face was the epitome of horror.  
"Electromagnetic force field, invisible to the naked eye, complicated to penetrate-" The Doctor gave the sonic screwdriver a twist and it emitted a higher pitched frequency. There was a loud thump inside the room, the sound of smashing glass, and Sam gave an agonized cry.  
"Hurry, Doctor, whatever you're doing, do it faster!" Dean's voice caught with desperation, his hazel eyes wide with fear.  
"Yes!" the Doctor shouted. There was a zap and Dean furiously yanked open the door.  
"Sam!" The five piled into the room and Sherlock raised his gun again, pointing it now at the gigantic, morphed creature holding a bloody, semiconscious Sam by the neck. It was huge, with rough scaly gray skin and a gaping maw containing teeth the size of soda cans. Its eyes were orbical and fluorescent blue, and in its free gnarled hand it gripped a small object that sent electricity flying through the air. Sam's eyes were rolling back in his head.  
"Let go of my brother, you ugly son of a bitch!"  
xXXx  
_One Minute Earlier_  
"Dean!" Sam screamed, and he heard chaos outside the door. But that was nothing compared to the chaos inside. He flinched as three gunshots went off, turning his attention away from the figure for a moment. The creature pulled the trigger on its device and it unfurled a massive amount of electrical energy that crashed into Sam. He stumbled as the feeling of being struck by lightning charred its way through every pore on his body. He felt his eyebrows singe and his knees wobbled, and he gave a strangled gasp. The knife fell out of his hand.  
It lunged at him, taking advantage of Sam's vulnerability. It crashed into him, sending Sam flying backwards into the wall. Sparks exploded before his eyes and all the air whooshed out of his lungs. It grabbed him by the collar and flung him across the room. He slammed into John's mirror, and it shattered in pieces all over him, slicing and cutting his face. He tried to get to his feet, but the creature was suddenly looming over him, having moved at incredible speed. He let out a choked scream as it snatched his throat, lifting him up into the air. Sam gasped for air and black rings danced in his vision.  
"Dean-" he croaked, clawing at the creature's grip and kicking it furiously. It didn't faze it and the creature locked its otherworldly eyes with Sam's. Numbness started to wash over Sam, starting at his legs and traveling upward. There was a slam and the door burst open, and the five rushed in. Sherlock pointed the gun at the thing and Dean yelled furiously.  
"Let go of my brother, you ugly son of a bitch!" The vision at Sam's eyes was starting to fade and his hands fell slack at his sides. It gazed at the five men stoically, and raised his weapon. He pulled the trigger, and the ball of electrical energy flew into Sherlock's chest. He let out a groan as blue lightning crackled across his body.  
"Sherlock!" John, thinking quickly, grabbed the gun from Sherlock's hand and fired directly at the creature. The bullets hit it dead on, but the creature hardly noticed. Mouths agape, they watched as it slowly pressed a dial pad on its arm.  
"No, wait!" The Doctor cried. "Stop!"  
It paid the Doctor no mind, and the fog started to dissipate. The form of the creature began to flicker and fade, becoming temporarily transparent.  
"No!" Castiel yelled, and it disappeared.  
Taking Sam Winchester with him.

xXXx

_"Sam!" _Dean cried, although it was hopeless. His little brother had disappeared.  
"Damn it," Sherlock wheezed. The Doctor's shoulders slumped in defeat. John feel back against the wall, his eyes disbelieving. Sam was just _gone. _  
"It was unaffected by bullets," Castiel pondered aloud. His limbs were locked in well reserved anger. "Where do you think it could have taken Sam?"  
Dean whirled on the Doctor, teeth gritted. "Doc, if you don't give me some good news, I'm going to go absolute _batshit." _  
"That," the Doctor said, wiping his hand over his forehead, "was an Antiphage. From the Karnyx galaxy." He swallowed roughly.  
"What the hell is an Antiphage?" John spluttered, at the same time Dean yelled, "I don't care what it is! Just tell me where it took my brother!"  
"Antiphage. 'What devours'." The Doctor faded into memories for a moment. "That wasn't just any Antiphage either," the Doctor said, his voice hollow. He placed his sonic screwdriver into his pocket, eyes staring at nothing. "That was a Antiphage royal guard- I recognized the arm device."  
"It was sent here with full intention to take Sam," Sherlock gasped with his hand clutching his chest, eyes widening with realization. Sherlock grimaced and straightened with teeth gritted. "By the leader." John's expression enlightened with new information.  
"Yes," the Doctor confirmed, escaping from his mountains of memories. He clenched and unclenched his fists. "It was no coincidence that it came here. It could've simply erased Sam, but no, it didn't. It _took _him. For some reason, the leader wanted him."  
"Why?" John asked.  
"I don't give a flying-" Dean struggled to control his emotions, poorly. "Where?!" Dean pressed, gripping the Doctor's shoulders tightly. The Doctor steeled his expression, but his eyes revealed how similarly angry he was. _Why does this always happen to good people- people I happen to want to travel with? _  
"Calm down, Dean," the Doctor said, his voice like iron. "Where else?"  
"The epicenter," Castiel muttered, eyes narrowing.  
"Surrounded by the leader's personal army," Sherlock said gravely. Castiel straightened resolutely, looking as though his mind was already made up.  
"No problem," Dean said gruffly. He rolled the glistening knife around in his hand in anticipation. "No problem at all."

Castiel had popped over to the other dimension after explicit directions from Dean describing the Impala's whereabouts. Within minutes, he had returned with all the Winchesters' weapons and piled them on the long table in front of the couch.  
The Doctor curled his lip uneasily. He did not approve of guns. He didn't approve of violence either, but it followed it him like a wolf after sheep. But the Doctor had enough knowledge of the Antiphage, and as much as it pained him, some of these weapons were necessary, especially if they were going to rescue Sam and stabilize the dimensional overlap. One life was priceless- no matter who it belonged to. But hundreds of billions of innocent lives versus a few, malicious group who had no intention of ceasing? What other option was there?  
_I'll find a way. I always do. _  
The Doctor, shying away from the table of weaponry, looked at his TARDIS. The mist stayed away from it, as if sensing it was not to be messed with. _That's my TARDIS, _he thought fondly. The one constant in the Doctor's life. He could always depend on his handy blue box.  
Dean was shoving all the weapons he could possibly wield onto his person. His anger was still evident in his actions but now it was fueled by a fierce, unshakable determination unlike the Doctor had ever seen. It rivaled his own, whenever someone endangered the innocent or hurt people he cared about. It was clear how much his brother meant to him, and what lengths he would go through to keep him safe.  
John was having a hard time himself- tending to Sherlock's burns. The weapon the Antiphage had wielded left painful scorch marks on the detective's pale chest. And Sherlock Holmes was the definition of an uncooperative patient.  
"Ouch! John, that _hurt!" _he snapped crankily, jerking away from the army doctor like a petulant child.  
"Of course it hurt, these are second-degree burns! What do you expect?" John said, exasperated.  
"You're an army doctor, a damn good one, so you should be able to to see that I'm perfectly _fine!"_ His protest was actively ignored by John, and Sherlock's eyes narrowed in vivid irritation.  
"Hardly. You'll be singing a different tune if these wounds get infected." Brushing his unbuttoned shirt aside, John took a cotton ball doused in rubbing alcohol and swiped it down the burn in the center of his chest.  
Sherlock hissed, recoiling. "Come off it, John. I'll be fine!" He stood up abruptly, nearly tipping John over in his seat. Rapidly rebuttoning his shirt, he stomped huffily over to the desk, where he picked up a Sharpie and did a perfect recreation of the rune Dean drew on the Doctor beneath his collarbone. Then he buttoned his last button. He paused, then walked back over to John.  
"Unbutton," Sherlock ordered stiffly. John rolled his eyes, shrugged off his padded jacket, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dark shirt. Then Sherlock jerked down and hastily sketched the rune on his shoulder blade.  
"Hey, hey, wait a sec," Dean said, noticing what he was doing. He eyed Sherlock's work. "That's...just right. Huh." He leaned backwards on the heels of his boots.  
"Please," Sherlock said snarkily. "I'd be worthless if I couldn't remember a simple rune." He capped the Sharpie and chucked it impassively to his right. It landed on the couch next to the Doctor, who was so deep in thought he didn't even notice.  
Dean made a rumbling noise in his throat and tried to look unimpressed. "Right. Not everyone can have eidetic memories, smart-stuff."  
Sherlock gave a small, arrogant toss of the head and stalked off to get some tea. John gave Dean an apologetic shrug, and Dean rolled his eyes.  
"What an ass."  
"He grows on you."  
"Really?"  
John gave a short laugh. "No, not really." Dean snorted.  
"He just gets in these moods sometimes. Especially when he feels...helpless. He's not used to all this...alien stuff. Usually he has all the answers and now that he can't help he's frustrated."  
"Well, I have to say this alien mumbo-jumbo isn't exactly a piece of cake, but I know for a fact that we're getting Sam back." Dean's voice was unwavering and he almost looked menacing. John nodded, feeling the same in means of the desire to act. "Unharmed. And we're pounding that Antiphage jackass until everything returns to normal."  
"This will not be easy," Castiel said warningly. "If bullets would not affect the armor of the Antiphage, how do you suggest we attack?"  
"There's only one way," the Doctor said from the corner. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and Sherlock poked his head out from the kitchen. The Doctor's voice was grave and almost weary. He got to his feet, seeming to grow taller as he spoke. "I can alter the bullets in your guns with my screwdriver. It will re-atomize the particles when the firing piston slams into the bullet, and instead of shooting out a regular lead bullet a small burst of energy will fire out. It will merely stun the Antiphages, but it's the only non lethal way I can think of."  
"Non lethal?" Dean asked. "Screw non lethal! They erased the-"  
_"I will not put more lives at risk!" _the Doctor thundered. Everyone in the room jumped as the normally good-natured Timelord strode forward towards Dean, eyes ablaze. "Whether they are innocent or not! I've got enough blood on my hands- twelve hundred years old and you think I haven't seen death? I'm responsible for the obliteration of entire races of species! I was young, foolish," the Doctor spat. "But not anymore. I will not allow more deaths, not when I'm around. Lives. Must. Not. Be. Lost."  
For once, Dean Winchester was speechless, and power radiated off the Doctor, whose lips were pressed in a hard line with eyebrows creased together.  
The resolute anger in Dean's eyes faded to a degree. "You're right," he said, his voice low. "That we even have the option- everything we do always ends with death. I'm so _sick_ of it."  
Although his raw might was still evident in his eyes, the Doctor's face softened, and he clapped a hand on the older Winchester's shoulder. "Dean, I know what it's like to be surrounded by death. To seem like there's no other way except 'kill or be killed'. But there's always another option." The Doctor smiled. "Because you're with me. I'm the Doctor, and if I say everyone comes out alive, everyone comes out alive." With a wink, he spun on his heel just in time to see the one and only River Song strut through the apartment door. Every pair of eyes spun to view who could only be the Doctor's wife.  
"Ah, love. You always were good at speeches." The Doctor smiled and took a step towards River.  
She beamed, eyes sparkling just like he imagined they would.  
"Hello, sweetie."


	5. Into the Field

** Chapter Five**

Into the Field

When Sam Winchester woke up, he really, really wished he hadn't.  
Or at least, wished that this was the dream. Whatever meant he wasn't in the position that he was in at that moment.  
Which was upside down. And to make things worse, he had to go to the bathroom.  
_Really bad. _  
Waking up in a strange place after being suddenly ambushed and abducted by a big ugly alien with a taser like gun didn't help his bladder either, mind.  
His head throbbed and his vision swam, not to mention the fact that he was bruised from head to toe. Wherever he was, it was cold, because frost was beginning to form on the tips of his eyebrows and on the folds of his jacket. Lifting a- luckily- free arm, he rubbed his nose to try to return warmth to his face. His whole body trembled and goosebumps erupted down his back. His breath came out as puffs of steam.  
Only when his vision started to clear did Sam realize the gravity of his predicament. _Right. Gotta get the hell out of here! _Wherever here was. Sam looked around blearily at his surroundings- he was some sort of storage room. It was full of ice blocks and on the ground was a layer of frost. He was facing away from the door, and the room was empty except for a small box in the corner of his eye next to a loose panel in the steel wall.  
He eyed the chains holding his ankle that suspended him for the ground. The chains were hooked to a vertical bar running the ceiling of the storage room, and held in place by large bolts. Folding his body forwards, he reached for his ankles. Wheezing, and thankful for all those goddamn sit-ups he made himself whenever he had the time, he wrapped a hand around a cool metal link and yanked as hard as he could. All it did was make him sway like a pendulum. He fell back down, gasping for breath. Nausea from being upside down so long swept over him and he felt a nosebleed coming on.  
"Goddamn it," he muttered. He curled back up again, yanking harder and harder. But it was futile- the chains were practically frozen shut.  
There was a sound behind him and he fell again, his fingertips barely brushing the white crystallized ground. It was the methodic thumping of footsteps, loud and clunking, edging towards him. He tried to turn his body to view what crept up behind him, but the burning in his abdomen was too strong. His heartbeat rocketed in his chest, and as the pounding in his skull became more intense the footsteps grew even closer. Sam began to breathe hard, his body tensing in fear. But even as whatever it was came right up behind him, all he could think was...  
_Dean...where the hell are you? _

"So you're River," Dean said, eyeing the woman who'd just kissed the Doctor lightly on his cheek.  
"Ooh," she said, looking around the room. "You have made friends, haven't you?"  
"It's a big problem, River," the Doctor said, sighing deeply.  
"I noticed the fog and absence of sound," she remarked. "London is a very loud place. It's kind of hard to miss." She walked towards Dean, who gave her a boyish grin.  
River was dressed in her usual style- nice but conventional. She wore a tight, chocolate turtleneck with a long blue stone necklace the same color as her eyes- a grey blue. She wore multi-pocketed, combat pants and tall, heavy duty boots that laced up to her knees. Her blonde curls were especially bouncy and her lipstick was a subtle pink.  
"And who might you be?" she asked, smiling with both her lips and her eyes. Dean blinked and extended a hand.  
"Dean Winchester."  
"Ooh, like the gun?" she asked, fascinated.  
"Yeah. Like the gun." _Like I haven't heard that one before. _  
"And you?" she asked, casting her eyes on Castiel.  
"My name is Castiel." After staring at her hand for a second too long, he extended his own and awkwardly shook it.  
"He's an angel. An actual _angel," _the Doctor said, a bit too excitedly. He beamed like he just told her Castiel was Santa. River shared a rare glance with him- one of incredulity.  
"That's...huh. That's...ah...wonderful...Nice to meet you." Castiel wasn't surprised or offended at her reaction, he'd been getting it all day. He nodded, and River blinked, and turned to the tenants of the apartment.  
"And you two?"  
"That's...where it gets complicated." The Doctor came next to his wife, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Great, this fictional character nonsense again. _  
John got to his feet. "My name's John Watson. And that's Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock crossed his arms behind his back and watched her expression silently. Instead of irritating, however, he found her reaction amusing.  
River's jaw dropped, but for only a second. Then she smiled from ear to ear like she'd been handed a huge Christmas present. "Oh, my my. Isn't this a recipe for action?" She looked at her husband with amazement. "You weren't kidding, love." She then looked back at John and vigorously shook his hand breathlessly. A blush began to spread in John's cheeks.  
"My name is River Song. And it's a _pleasure _to meet you, John Watson." She gave Sherlock a devilish quirk of an eyebrow and he cocked his head at her thoughtfully. "This is already promising." She dropped John's hand and turned. Her gaze found the pile of weapons and she eagerly walked over to them, picking up a samurai sword Dean picked up once fighting a Japanese booze demon. She ran a finger against the blunt, smooth face and turned to her husband. "This beauty certainly isn't yours. What are we _up_ against, love?" She of all people knew the Doctor's aversion of weaponry.  
The entertainment in the Doctor's eyes faded. "Antiphages."  
Alarm slammed onto River's face and for once her grin disappeared. "Oh, my. They're the ones causing all this, are they? No wonder you need firepower."  
"They took my brother," Dean said gravely. "We're charging at the leader head on to get him back."  
River's eyes softened as she viewed Dean. "I'm sorry to hear that, Dean. But if anyone can get your brother back, it's the Doctor." She gazed affectionately at the lanky man next to her, and he straightened his bowtie with the corners of his lips tilting up. Her eyes twinkled eagerly. "And if I've got the a-okay to use my baby-" she withdrew her pistol from one of the pockets on her thigh and raked her eyes over it lovingly- "You've got yourself an army." Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, an angel, a man with a gun for a last name with a mini arsenal, and most of all her wonderful husband- no force in any universe could reckon with this group.  
She turned met eyes with the detective, who hadn't said a word. But inwardly, he approved of the battle-ready time traveler. "Tall dark and brilliant, what's the plan?" River wanted to hear the greatest mind of London speak.  
Sherlock raised a brow. "There isn't one." He had calculated one obviously, but had yet to reveal it to the group.  
"Despite those being my favorite kinds, I know you have one. C'mon. Tell the class." The rest of the group stared at the raven-haired Holmes expectantly. John sighed and crossed his arms. _This oughta be good. _  
And Sherlock, after a pause, grinned wickedly with his grey eyes shining with excitement. "But first, Doctor...Tell me everything I need to know about Antiphage technology...and your TARDIS."

xXXx

"You really are brilliant," River said with an impressed smile five minutes later. Sherlock smiled, eyes alight, with a rare, deep chuckle.  
"Oh, don't stroke his ego," John said with a laugh.  
"The plan is risky...but plausible." Castiel's black brows furrowed in thought.  
"I take back what I said before," Dean said, canines flashing as he smiled widely. "You're a _crazy _ass. I like that."  
"To the TARDIS!" The Doctor exclaimed as he zipped out the door. Every mature adult in the room rolled their eyes, but grabbed their weapons and raced after him.

xXXx

It was enough waking up in a strange, completely new place with a pounding headache once but twice? _Really? _Sam swore loudly as soon as he had the voice to. Eyes watering continuously, he tried to raise a hand to wipe his face, but found that it was locked in a chain.  
_Great. More chains. _  
Thankfully, Sam wasn't upside down anymore. Instead, he was on some sort of steel table in a room. Above his head were whizzing, brightly lit machines of all colors. The room was well lit but sparse, panelled in metal, and he was alone again. _What is their game? _Sam wondered. _What's the point of keeping me alive at all, never mind knocking me out and dragging me hell knows where?_ If it were possible, lack of answers made Sam's head spin even more.  
As much as he wanted answers, Sam wasn't exactly thrilled when a sliding set of doors whooshed open to his left.  
He stared as the creature stomped towards him. Sam started getting twitchy, the definition of uneasy as it came closer- he felt so vulnerable, chained to the table. He jerked against his bonds fruitlessly. He could see it clearly now- it had dark, bumpy skin the color of wet cement and was about six feet tall and four feet wide. It had three fingers and the most unearthly eyes Sam had ever seen- bright, shockingly vibrant blue and the size of baseballs. Its mouth was slightly agape, revealing large, rounded teeth spaced out unevenly on its jaw.  
"You are one ugly bastard, aren't you?" Sam laughed humorlessly, nerves making him confident. "I have to say, if you probe me, I'm gonna be _pissed." _  
The creature didn't acknowledge Sam's smart-ass remark.  
"Time traveller." Sam fell silent as a deep rumbling voice penetrated the chilled air. The voice was warped and kind of electronic, and emotionless like a recording. Sam blinked.  
"Me? No." He had a feeling he should be as vague as possible.  
"Lie. You have traces of Timelord energies. Where is the Timelord?" When it spoke its mouth didn't move.  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
"Lie. Where is the Timelord?" it repeated. Sam gritted his teeth in anger. It wasn't getting anything out of him even if it cost him his life.  
"I. Don't. Know." He emphasized each word as if he were speaking to a child, but his tone was dark and he nearly spat the words.  
"Lie. Your failure to cooperate will result in reprogramming. Where is the Doctor?"  
_So they know who they're up against. _There's only one reason he was alive, Sam realized. _They know the Doctor is here.  
And they're afraid. _  
Sam smiled. Maybe he could relent a _little _information. A small, scary bit.  
"If I know the Doctor- or at least, my brother- he'll be on his way. Here, immediately. Actually, any time now." He leaned his head towards the creature, his eyes narrowing menacingly. "So if I were you...I would run. Run like hell."  
The creature was silent for a moment. It blinked its baseball eyes once. "Your reprogramming will commence in approximately fifteen seconds."  
Sam leaned back in confusion. "Reprogramming? What the hell do you mean, reprogramming?" But it did not answer him. It started to turn away, stomping away towards the exit doors.  
A warning feeling wound in Sam's stomach, twisting and curling with sudden fear."Hey! Get back here! I wasn't finished talking to you!"  
An automated voice started a countdown in the room, echoing in Sam's ears. A large mechanism shaped like a tube with a needle lowered from the ceiling, coming to rest directly in front of Sam's face. He jerked against his bounds again. This can't be good.  
"Ten. Nine. Eight-"  
_Oh, shit. _  
"Seven. Six. Five-"  
"Damn it!" Sam roared, struggling to pull away. But all it did was cut into Sam's arms.  
The needle came closer and closer to Sam's hairline.  
"Four. Three. Two-"  
Sam flinched as it came centimeters from his head, and he opened his mouth to yell.  
"One."

John's reaction when he stepped into the TARDIS was very funny to the Doctor indeed. Of course, he had seen them all- fainting, screaming, even a lapse in sanity- and John was no exception to shock. But it was funny all the same.  
"Oh. Oh, wow." The army doctor slowly padded into the TARDIS behind Castiel and Dean, who didn't look entirely happy to be back inside the blue box. Sherlock had stayed outside to clarify the plans with River. "This. Is. Oh, wow." He looked at the Doctor, his grey blue eyes eyes the size of quarters. Suddenly, John leaped into action. He ran to the center, skirting around it and raking his eyes down the glowing blue pillar. He slid a hand lightly across the massive amount of instruments on the console. Then he bolted to the stairs leading down, then darted back up again and sped down a hallway.  
Then he popped back five seconds later, sliding across the smooth grey floor.  
"It just...keeps...going..." He spun in a circle, absorbing the complete interior of the TARDIS main room, the smile growing wider and wider on his face. "It is...Oh. Oh, so much bigger on the inside!" He hurried over to the Doctor, who was watching with a warm, tickled expression on his amiable face.  
"I _know," _the Doctor said. John clapped his hands on the Doctor's shoulders, fevered with childish delight. Wonder radiated from him in waves. Dean raised an eyebrow, and felt glad he hadn't acted this thrilled when the Doctor introduced him to the TARDIS. Of course, he still felt amazement lingering in his gut- the first time had been a bit more bumpier than this, and now he could really admire the wonderful sight of the TARDIS.  
"You- this- _fantastic!"_ John marveled shamelessly, and the Doctor tapped John's agape mouth shut.  
"Why, thank you," he replied, taking it as a personal compliment- which, technically, it was. "I'll be sure to give you a tour."  
"That...would be brilliant," John said breathlessly. "Sherlock!" He tramped over to the handrail and gripped it, as if the TARDIS would disappear right under him. "Get in here!"  
Sherlock paused at the door, and slowly walked into the TARDIS. Even Castiel stared, expectant of Sherlock's reaction. The detective's face remained blank. But everyone there recognized that look in his stormy eyes- because they knew it themselves.  
A look of curious, overwhelming astonishment.  
But Sherlock just raised a coal black brow and lifted his head to fully view the magnificent space. Yet even he couldn't resist poking his head in and out of the TARDIS. Then he walked up to the console, pouring his eyes across the machinery of the spaceship. River followed him inside, closing the blue door behind him.  
The tall man let a pale hand be drawn towards a small, blue knob. "Timelord physics..." he said quietly. "...Right." He met the Doctor's eyes, and there was the feeling that Sherlock was even more confused about the Doctor than before.  
The Doctor rolled his eyes with a laugh. "Oh, Sherlock. No need to look so impressed." He spun away arms wide. "Hand over your weapons, men!" He paused, and his wife put her hands on her hips. "And River, of course, sorry..." The Doctor straightened. "We have a Winchester to save!"

xXXx

"Where are we, Doc?"  
The grating whine signaling the TARDIS's descent was music to Dean's ears- even though the trip had been around three to five seconds long. Dean was more of a car person- spontaneous travel wasn't really his thing. But every second counted, and he was more than willing to give the TARDIS a spin if it meant saving his brother faster.  
"In the center, like planned...but...it seems we're in the ship."  
"What ship?" Castiel asked, irked curiosity flashing across his face.  
"The Antiphages'. Think of it like teenagers parking a car on a bluff to see a view- except they're bloodthirsty, power-hungry aliens, the car is a spaceship, and the view isn't a calming landscape- instead it's the sight of universes colliding."  
"...You really know how to comfort people, don't you?" John asked with a low whistle.  
Dean shuffled his feet, his eyebrows crinkling with poorly obscured doubt. With his altered pistol in his pocket, he gave Sherlock a patronizing look.  
"You positive this is going to work, genius?"  
"Absolute certainty is impossible- all that matters is probability," Sherlock said. He examined his freshly tinkered pistol with interest. "And the probability of my plan's success is relatively strong."  
"Relatively?" Dean echoed.  
"Sherlock," John groaned. "Stop stressing Dean. Dean, it'll work. Don't worry."  
"'Don't worry', he says...No, there's only aliens outside who will erase the whole universe who're holding my brother captive..." Dean muttered spitefully, closing his eyes.  
"Are you ready, Angel?" River asked Cas sweetly, coming up to him with a stunner of a smile.  
Castiel nodded. "Yes, I am prepared."  
"This isn't going to be fun if you don't loosen up, Castiel." She bumped his shoulder playfully. Castiel gave her his trademark look of confusion.  
"River," the Doctor chastised with a chuckle.  
"What?" she asked defensively. "I'm gonna get this boy to smile if it's the last thing I do." Cas lifted a dark eyebrow, and John bit the inside of his cheek to keep a laugh inside.  
"Don't hold your breath," Dean said. "Trust me. I've tried. Humor isn't really an angel strongpoint."  
"I'll take that as a challenge," River said mischievously with a shake of her curls, and she grasped the dark-haired angel by the hand with an excited squeeze. Castiel blinked almost nervously with slightly shocked blue eyes. She tugged him eagerly towards the TARDIS doors, and he walked behind her with perplexed obedience. The Doctor gave Castiel a sympathetic shrug. Dean couldn't help but laugh at his friend's expression.  
"Yeah, get right on that," Dean said. Then he turned to John. "Ready, man?"  
John shrugged. He seemed remarkably at ease, considering what they were walking into. "As ready as I can be, considering what we're going up against."  
Dean nodded. "My thoughts exactly. Just wonder-"  
John sighed. "I was a soldier, Dean. I can handle myself well enough."  
Dean held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I get it. We're in this knee deep, here...And it's dangerous. You two can back out any time you want."  
"Yeah. I know." John and Dean shared a hard look that made River roll her eyes.  
"Men. Why can't you just say 'thank you' like normal people? Pretty soon you five will be roaming the universe doing God know what, and you can't even communicate with each other." She snorted.  
Dean and John shared another look. This one was entirely different, and John had to bite his cheek again as a smile kept threatening his pale face.  
"Women," Dean muttered. "Can't deal with 'em, can't live without 'em."  
Sherlock stepped forward towards the door next to River and Castiel, nodding at them.  
"I am just surrounded by tall and dark, aren't I?" River said to herself with a giggle. Castiel gave her a timid look, and she pursed her lips to keep from laughing.  
Sherlock looked at John meaningfully. "Keep- keep your eyes peeled. Never let them get behind you," he said. "Don't get killed." A flicker of what John could have sworn was worry flitted through his eyes so fast it was as if it never were.  
"I'll do my best," John replied wryly. "Same to you. Don't do anything stupid."  
"Me? Never." His mouth curled in a wan smile. "Haven't you heard? I'm brilliant." John rolled his eyes.  
The Doctor noticed Dean, who was staring at the TARDIS floor as if it had insulted him somehow. He leaned against the TARDIS console with his ankles crossed, and his face contorted with sympathy. "Are you okay with staying behind? I know how much you want to find Sam, but..."  
"No, no," Dean said roughly, shoving his hands into his pockets. He seemed to be half-convincing himself at the same time. "I know they can find him. It'll be fine. Besides," he looked up at the Doctor with a dry grin. "Me and John have to protect your alien ass, don't we?"  
The Doctor started with mock injury. "My bum is perfectly capable of protecting itself."  
River laughed, then alarms suddenly blared from outside the TARDIS. Red flashing lights poured through the TARDIS door windows, casting harsh, scarlet light on the adventuresome team. "Time to go," she said, lifting her gun up happily. Sherlock and River automatically came closer to Castiel as they prepared to walk out the door.  
"Got the dampening shield up, Doc?" Dean inquired.  
"Do you even have to ask?" The Doctor replied. But then he paused, eyes widening a tiny degree, and without turning from the five he fiddled with a device on the pillar behind his back. There was a loud beep. The Doctor smiled without a trace of sheepishness. "Of course it is. What do you take me for?"  
John raised a blond eyebrow while Dean nearly facepalmed himself. Sherlock placed his fingers on his closed eyelids, exasperated, and a flush of color spread in the Doctor's cheeks.  
"Right," he said. "Get going! Go save Sam! We'll hold down the fort here."  
"Good Lord," River muttered. "I'm married to such a child sometimes. Keep safe, sweetie?"  
"Cross my hearts," the Doctor said with a vibrant smirk.  
She placed a hand on the TARDIS doors. "Dean, John?" The two looked up with the same expectant expression. "Protect my husband's ass, alright?"  
"Yes, ma'am," they said in unison, with small resulting grins.  
"Play nice, boys." She winked. And Castiel, River, and Sherlock left the safety of the TARDIS into the not entirely welcoming arms of a miniature Antiphage army.

xXXx

"Halt." The voice traveled through the still air like a bang on a drum.  
Castiel paused briefly outside the TARDIS doors, with steady but tentative grips on Sherlock and River. The sight of so many enemies in a circle around them wasn't exactly the most reassuring thing he had ever seen. And he had been against incalculable odds as of late. But Sherlock's plan would work- the Doctor confirmed it.  
"Time travellers." A royal Antiphage in directly in front of them spoke- or at least, it seemed to. Its mouth didn't move with its speech. "Where is the Timelord?" Its morphed, armed hand twitched and River had the inkling she should get it talking.  
"Oh, he's in here," River said impassively. "It _is _his ship, after all."  
The effervescent blue eyes stared holes into River's eyes. "Escort him out." The order was emotionless, but grave enough that the consequences of disobeying were quite clear. "Failure to cooperate will result reprogramming. Do not resist. You cannot escape. There is a particle displacement inhibitor in place. All transportation is impossible." Sherlock's eyes narrowed mischievously. Oh, how much he wanted to rub it in their faces on how so, so wrong they were.  
River was quite ready with a witty retort, but to her pleasant surprise Cas beat her to the punch.  
"I wouldn't be so sure of that..." His paused, ever so briefly for a word, "...Dumbass." The word, so unused by his mouth, was of course one he learned from Dean- and whenever Dean used it Cas felt it was effective. And it was the only word he could think of that was insulting and personally empowering enough. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, giving Cas an incredulous look, and almost smiled outright.  
_What an odd angel,_ River's mind laughed. "Angel, dear...don't be such a tease."  
A ghost of a smile appeared on Castiel's face- but then he was back to all seriousness. "Time to go." River squeezed his hand and Sherlock gripped Castiel's arm firmly. And as if he'd snapped his fingers, there was the sound of wings and he, Sherlock, and River disappeared.  
xXXx  
_Twenty Minutes Earlier, back in 221B Baker Street _  
The words fired from Sherlock's mouth like bullets. "The largest problem I can forsee is the Antiphages prime weapon-"  
Dean started, only briefly. "The taser gun?" That hardly seemed the large problem.  
"No, don't be stupid, the field! The field!" Dean bit the inside of his lip, looking slightly offended. John gave him a sympathetic look, having been down that road too many times himself. The Doctor nodded in agreement, already retaining said knowledge while Sherlock continued at astonishing speed. "Castiel, you couldn't access John's bedroom due to some sort of field surrounding the door. It kept you from transporting. Only after the Doctor infiltrated it with his screwdriver were we able to enter. The problem with charging them head on is that we could be trapped- they could lock us in some electromagnetic bubble, and Castiel- let alone anyone else- wouldn't be able to escape. So my question is, Doctor, that since the TARDIS is capable of traveling through space, that a necessity with all spacecraft is its ability to retain oxygen, correct? I assume that your TARDIS isn't airtight."  
Dean blinked. "I didn't catch any of that," he muttered to Cas. The angel shrugged.  
The Doctor, however, had held onto every word. A miniscule glimpse of what Sherlock could be planning flitted through his mind, but he couldn't grasp it, not yet. "Yes, yes, it is, it has an-"  
Sherlock interrupted him, clapping his hands together in confirmation as idea upon idea flooded into his mind relentlessly. "-Air bubble of some sort, some type of field of its own surrounding the TARDIS keeping oxygen in." The Doctor nodded vehemently. "Certainly then, if its capable of sustaining a bubble of oxygen, it should be able to-"  
"Cast its _own_ electromagnetic field to cancel out _their _field!" they gasped in unison. River mouth dropped, the ends of her lips a grin, and Castiel just stood there, eyes wide. Dean closed his eyes. Why does all this science crap have to be so goddamn complicated? John was unsurprised that Sherlock had managed to come up with a plan- it was only a matter of time for Holmes.  
"We wouldn't be trapped- Castiel could transport all over the ship!" The Doctor came towards Sherlock, absolute wonder on his face. He clamped his lanky arms on both of the tall detective's shoulders. "You. Are. _Brilliant._ Absolutely, undeniably _fantastic!"_  
Sherlock smiled broadly, and for a moment he looked almost embarrassed, flushed with the praise of a Timelord. Then cool arrogance draped over his features. "It was simple. Easy." As always, the mild emotion of modesty eluded him.  
"It was simple! So simple, yet so mind-blowingly incredible! You've done it..."  
"So...because of this bubble whatsit we can go save Sam?" Dean asked.  
"More than that, Dean," the Doctor said exuberantly, his voice full of thrill. "We can defeat them. We can stop them _all." _  
River held up a hand before her husband could get carried away. "Perfect... but just one more thing..."

xXXx

xXXx  
_Now _  
When they landed, they didn't know exactly where they landed.  
"Ooh, that was fun!" River gasped, raising her gun and scanning her surroundings. "Well done, angel. Wouldn't you say, Sherlock?"  
"I've already taken Cas- ah, for a spin," he said, drawing out his own weapon. "It was quite informative."  
"Lucky," River muttered, stealthily padding down the seemingly empty corridor in a secluded, dark hallway of the Antiphage ship. She leaned against the right side of the wall, and poked her head out of the steel hallways branching off from their own. "How do you know where to go?"  
Castiel tensed and listened for any sign of coming Antiphage soldiers."I...sense it, where I'm going to land. It's...hard to explain." He straightened and relaxed. "There are no soldiers nearby."  
River gave him an impressed look. "Aren't you handy?"  
Castiel couldn't think of anything else to say but "yes". Sherlock let his gun hand fall to his side.  
"Where could they be keeping Sam?" he wondered aloud.  
"Antiphages always have prison holds," River said. "They're cautious like that. He should be there." A thought occurred to her briefly, a very unnerving one. But she brushed it away in her mind, dispelling such a dreadful thought.  
"What?" Sherlock asked, reading her microexpression like words written on a page.  
"Nothing," River said noncommittally. Sherlock didn't believe even for a second that she was telling the truth. "Let's go find Winchester number two. It should be this way- towards the rear of the ship, near storage and medical centers. It should be...this way." She walked quickly off the right. And Sherlock and Castiel, completely lacking in knowledge in the area of Antiphage spacecrafts, could do nothing but follow with their wits filed sharp and weapons at the ready.  
xXXx  
"Impossible." Even though the voice was monotonous the shock was tangible. Dean could practically hear the unease as he watched the aliens' reaction from a screen safely inside the TARDIS. "Find them," an Antiphage rumbled. Half of them split off from the party in search for River, Cas, and Sherlock.  
"Half of them are leaving- just like Sherlock said they would," Dean said, slightly grudgingly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled the plan's working so far, but a small part of me wishes it would blow up in his high and mighty face."  
John chuckled, but his voice was tight with anxiety. The others were still out there, albeit away from the Antiphages. They were still in danger. But if he had to take it all into account, the whole universe was. "That feeling will never go away, Dean. Trust me. Whenever he screws up is when you start praying. Or get suspicious- Sherlock sometimes screws up purposefully to fool people."  
"I'll keep that in mind," Dean said gruffly.  
"I'm just glad the dampening field plan actually carried through- there was always the possibility that the TARDIS field could have been simply overpowered." The Doctor stared at the screen, his voice blasé. Dean turned to him incredulously and John just sighed.  
"Thanks for the memo," he said. "It's not like that was important or anything!"  
The Doctor didn't even acknowledge Dean's anger. "Nah, not really. There was only a small chance of failure...Keep in mind, Dean...Risks are daily obstacles. The only way to clear them is leap."  
_I'm surrounded by crazies, _Dean thought hopelessly.  
"God, you're so much like Sherlock sometimes," John muttered. "But he hasn't failed me yet." John laughed jokingly. "And neither have you, Doctor. I don't think failing is an option with you two around."  
The Doctor didn't laugh or smile. Suddenly, his muscles locked down, his arms tightening its grip on the TARDIS console, and a stricken emotion flitted across his face. The Doctor looked at the two briefly, fighting the expression to keep his face blank, and for some reason his eyes looked sad. They echoed with silent pain, and for some reason a pang of sympathy struck John's heart. For what, he didn't know. Just the look on his face was bothersome. The Doctor blinked and stared at the ground, focus drifting.  
"Doctor?" he asked tentatively.  
"...Yes?"  
"Are you okay...?" Dean's attention returned to the tall man beside him, eyebrows raised questioningly.  
"Yes, yes, I'm fine...You just. Something-" The Doctor's voice snapped for a moment, and the two remained silent. Then he cleared his throat. "You just remind me of someone. Someone I...Someone I haven't seen in awhile, is all." He turned back to the screen, his light eyebrows furrowing.  
John cocked his head, but he didn't press the Doctor for more answers. Seeing him suddenly _vulnerable _made John uncomfortable. "Er, right."  
A memory had floated completely randomly into the Doctor's mind. And it had been completely _unwelcome. _It wasn't John's fault, spurring a strange memory- it was an inevitability to be haunted by companions he had lost...but not now. He had to focus now. And he couldn't be susceptible to such crushing emotions...especially not caused by the loss of his most recently lost best friends.  
Not...not now.  
He shut his eyes, forcing the image of Rory Williams- _Pond _out of his mind, feeling his heart lurch in sorrow.  
"Lets go," he said, voice hard. "Their numbers have been cut in half- its the best time for attack."  
Dean and John nodded, feeling their voices cut off by the Doctor's sudden change of mood. The weapons seemed to grow heavier in their pockets. John. Dean. The Doctor. Soldiers- all of them, in some way or another-ready for battle. They walked steadily towards the TARDIS doors, ready to make a completely uncharacteristic full-fledged assault.  
It had all been decided twenty-five minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago...back on Baker Street...

xXXx

xXXx  
_Twenty-five minutes ago, yet again in 221B Baker Street _  
"Outright _attack _them?" The Doctor asked. Sherlock nodded with the revelation of the second part of his plan. For once, doubt worked its way onto his young features. "I dunno...assault isn't really my style. I'm more the one for sneaky plans and surprise appearances, or purposefully getting captured or-" he began to ramble, with each new possibility growing more preposterous than the last.  
"I believe in this case," Castiel said calmly, "that an exception must be made. Now that there's a way to infiltrate the stronghold without the loss of life, there's nothing to lose." Dean and River nodded in agreement- assaults were definitely an option for them. In fact, upon seeing each other's faces, they shared an anticipatory grin.  
"It's just- just..."  
"What?" Sherlock asked, affronted. There was nothing wrong with the plan.  
"It's just...not _cool! _Not amazing, or original, or unexpected! I'm the Doctor! It means I do strange, cool things!"  
River shook her head at her husband. "You are so immature."  
"Wouldn't doing something expected be in turn unexpected?" John asked, his blond eyebrows lifting to his hairline.  
"N- but- I-" The Doctor spluttered, then gave a low growl. "Don't reverse psychology me!" He drew in a haughty breath and crossed his arms.  
John held up his hands innocently in a gesture of peace.  
The Doctor looked at Sherlock pleadingly. "Oh, isn't there something more interesting in that wild head of yours?"  
Sherlock gave him a _oh, honestly? _look, eyebrow raising disdainfully. "No." His answer was taut and simple.  
"Damn," the Doctor grumbled. "Fine! We'll do what you want...stupid bloody assault." He began to mutter again, except this time he muttered irritated curses.  
The plan was almost complete, and John, making sure no one was looking, stepped backwards and reached into a fruit bowl off the side. There, under the apples and oranges, he found something that was entirely not fruit and slid it into his jacket pocket. He could always count on Sherlock to have something completely ridiculous in the most subtle of places.  
Sherlock's hawk eyes, of course, caught the movement. And they glittered with amusement.  
xXXx  
_ Now _  
"Say, Doctor..." John felt his hand grip hesitantly the object in his jacket pocket. "Before we go in guns blazing..." The Doctor looked up at John, the hardness in his eyes changing to curiosity.  
"Yes?" Dean and the Doctor eyed John suspiciously as John's expression became slightly sheepish.  
"Is there any way, you could say, that we can use...this?" He drew the object out of his pocket slowly and the two staring felt their mouths drop.  
"How did you-Where-" the Doctor spluttered.  
"Holy shit," Dean said, then began to full on laugh, his hands on his knees. His deep, rumbling laughs echoed all around the TARDIS, and the echoes made him sound almost hysterical. John clenched his teeth to keep from laughing alongside him. The Doctor however, didn't have the same reaction as Dean.  
He reached slowly for the object in John's hand, but then stopped, and whirled, suddenly shouting- "Why didn't you tell me this was on board?!" His attention was directed at the ceiling.  
John paled, instantly embarrassed. "I'm- sorry, but-"  
"Not you!" The Doctor cried, waving away John's words. Dean wheezed for air, and looked at John with confusion. John's expression echoed the older Winchester's. "The- the TARDIS! She's supposed to tell me- _warn_ me when..._stuff _like that is brought aboard! I mean, that? On my TARDIS?!" The Doctor turned white, features twisting with annoyance, and turned away from the TARDIS ceiling and back to John.  
"That was incredibly dangerous to bring in here," he said warningly, his tone dark. "If this were normal circumstances I'd kick you out of my ship right now."  
John looked shocked, a little hurt, but he nodded. The Doctor was right, he should've told him..."Right. I'm sorry, I-" Dean looked as if he were about to defend John and he opened his mouth. But the Doctor walked right up to John and grasped his shoulder intensely.  
"But this isn't normal circumstances- far from it. And right now, John Watson..." He tensed, and Dean froze, waiting for the Doctor's reaction.  
"...I could _kiss _you!" John's eyes popped and the Doctor's tight lips spread into a huge grin. _That was unexpected, _Dean thought. The Doctor scooped up the item in John's hand, gently but quickly. "In fact, I think I will!" He gave the bewildered John a quick enthusiastic peck on the cheek. "This will do _spectacularly_!"  
"R- Really? I mean...that's great." The poor army doctor still looked flustered.  
"Damn right, it will," said Dean enthusiastically. "This is going to be interesting."  
The Doctor was busy sonicing the small object. "Yes, yes, quite. This will at least give us a good, sprinting start."  
Relief and small pride bubbled up inside the blond assistant detective, and a gust of wind blew out of his cheeks, enormously glad the Doctor wasn't as outraged as he thought. Getting praise from the Doctor was like getting praise from a happy, time-travelling alien Sherlock. Albeit that was a poor comparison, but the feeling was the same in his chest.  
"There. Battle ready and dangerous." He ran a thumb along the object. Dean stepped forward, giving the Doctor an _are-you-serious_look.  
"Doctor...no offense, but I think I should be the one to, ah, lay it on them."  
The Doctor smiled. "Why do think so?"  
Dean rolled his eyes. "You want me to answer that?"  
The Timelord chuckled. "No. I don't think so. Here." He handed the object slowly to Dean, as if it were a piece of rare china- delicately and wearily.  
"Sweet," Dean said. His hazel eyes glittered wickedly. He walked over to the TARDIS door, and put a free hand on the handle. "You know, I've never actually used one of these before."  
John groaned. "Dean...I have actually used one before, maybe I should-"  
"No way, John! I'm not passing up this opportunity. Get ready, you two. I'm gonna open this door and give it to 'em good." Exasperated, John came up against the other door, pressing his back to it with his army pistol in hand. The Doctor slid something out of his pocket- something tubular- and extracting his sonic screwdriver, he somehow attached to tube to the nozzle of the screwdriver.  
"What does that do?" John asked.  
"Ah...makes it fire sonic energy in short powerful burst."  
"Like a...sonic gun?"  
"Well...yes...I don't exactly approve of guns." The Doctor was resolute in his statement.  
"We noticed," John and Dean said dryly in unison.  
The Doctor shrugged. "I do my job my way. Do yours your way."  
_Can't argue with that logic, _Dean thought. He and John met eyes, and as the Doctor came to Dean's side, they nodded.  
"Ready?"  
"Ready." John felt the deja vu he always felt when his gun felt heavy in his hand- gunfire, hailing bullets, an addicting rush of adrenaline..._I'm never going to get enough of this._  
"Ready."  
"Three...two..." Dean felt his limbs tense for the worst.  
"One."  
The second the TARDIS door was cleared the Winchester pulled the pin out with his teeth- _always wanted to do that- _and lobbed the freshly altered grenade at the unsuspecting Antiphages.  
_Boom.  
Grenades are so cool,_ Dean thought.  
Then the chaos began.


	6. Bolts of Blue Flame

**Bolts of Blue Flame **

"I hear him!" Castiel suddenly gasped, darting down the dark hallway and up to a closed, sliding door with a panel the size of a birthday card off to the side. Without even taking the time to see if it was unlocked, he grasped River and Sherlock by the arm and teleported instantly into the room.  
"Sam!" he said.  
Sam Winchester was lying unconscious on a table on the opposite side of the empty, large room. A large contraption hung dormant above his head, and his youthful face was blank. His shaggy brown hair was splayed across the table and his wrists and ankles were restrained. His tall body, spattered with patches of blood, was completely straight on the metal slab.  
Castiel started to move forward, but Sherlock yanked his trenchcoat back.  
"Wait," the detective ordered quietly. His quicksilver eyes darted all over the room, lingering on the floor and blank metal walls. "This is...too easy..." Quick as a fox, his hand snatched something from the pocket of his dark coat and he stooped to the floor. River and Cas looked at him expectantly as he placed a small, shiny object on the floor the size of a marble...  
_It_ is _a marble, _River thought. It was small and clear, with a colorful air bubbles frozen inside. With a expert flick of the thumb, Sherlock sent the marble smartly over the grey floor.  
It rolled across the floor without a hitch, or at least, for the first four and a half seconds.  
Then directly under the marble, the floor began to snap and crackle with a blue energy. Panels of electric floor lit up the room with an eerie blue light, and Sherlock straightened and watched as the panels cut off a centimeter from the group's feet.  
The marble continued to roll unfazed all the way over to the table where Sam lay, and the lightning floor only cut off millimeters from the table.  
"I don't know about you two, but I don't really like the smell of burnt hair." River crossed her arms, trying to hold back the emotion on her face- The others hardly seemed bothered by the fact if they had stepped but a penny's width more and would have died in shocking, brutal agony.  
"Perhaps River and I should hang back," Sherlock said nonchalantly, his voice aloof.  
"That...would be a good idea." Castiel said, appraising the distance and the floor. Then with the breathy noise of wings he teleported over to the table, standing over Sam in a slightly awkward position- he crouched deftly over Sam's head, back towards the wall. Sherlock would've grinned if Sam had been conscious.  
"Sam," the angel said gently. He gripped the young Winchester's shoulders and gave him a slight shake. "_Sam..._It's me, Castiel. Sam?" Sam remained asleep, without an eyelid flutter or micro-expressional twitch.  
"He won't wake," Cas called intensely. His normally reserved blue eyes fell upon Sam with great concern.  
"I would say plug his nose and cover his mouth, but I have a feeling the usual way's not going to work." River's eyebrows crinkled in thought.  
"John sometimes falls into an almost coma-like sleep after a couple of drinks..." Sherlock pondered aloud. "But we don't have any water and I don't have my megaphone...try shouting!"  
"Shouting?" Castiel asked dubiously. He wasn't usually one to yell, people could usually tell when they were supposed to be listening or when he was angry- he never really needed to yell.  
"Yes! _Directly into his ear!"_  
"Won't that cause hearing damage?" Cas replied skeptically. He cast his eyes down on Sam again, debating.  
"I don't think that's our greatest concern right now, Angel," River said tightly. "Scream. Loud."  
"Hmm..." Castiel's eyes widened. He waved his hand, and the restraints on Sam's wrists and ankles undid themselves. River gawked and Sherlock raised a brow. "Alright...You may want to cover your ears."  
"I don't think that's-" River started, but something told Sherlock he should listen, and he held up a hand towards her. She paused, then slowly covered her ears, pressing her curls to her head. Sherlock covered his slightly, but his curiosity kept him from pressing too tight.  
Castiel turned and giving a slight nod, barely opened his mouth.  
And from the angel the shrieking, piercing sound of true angelic speech ripped through the air, high enough to break glass. River groaned and pressed her hands against her hands hard, and Sherlock winced, his curiosity dampened as his face contorted with pain.  
"AAAAARRGGGHH!" Sam screamed, jolting straight up from under the angel. His proximity to Cas causing so much pain that his brown doe eyes began to well. _"CAS! CAS, STOP!" _  
Castiel instantly ceased his true speech, straightened, and turned slightly pink. "Sorry. You were...unconscious."  
"Yeah, well, thanks!" Sam yelled, his voice still loud. Then his breath blew out in a gust and he clocked back down on the table, eyes squeezed shut. Then he opened them- and to his surprise, found himself directly under the crouched angel. He turned red all the way to his ears. "Uh, Cas...why are you practically on top of me?"  
Castiel took a couple seconds to answer, and each moment Sam grew redder and covered his eyes with a free hand."The...floor- um- is electric." His voice was a hint sheepish.  
"Oh. Kay. Can we...go, now?" Sam kept his hand over his eyes.  
"Yes." Castiel's pale hand shot down, snatching Sam's arm and they were suddenly across the room, back with Sherlock and River.  
"Augh," Sam groaned, clutching his head. His knees buckled. Castiel continued to grip his arm until he was sure the massively tall Winchester could stand upright. River's eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment, and Sherlock noticed. But nevertheless he approached Sam with the smallest of smiles.  
"Sam...how's the hospitality here?" His eyes flickered with poorly timed humor, but inside he was relieved the Winchester was back in their hands.  
"Terrible," he muttered. Then he straightened, eyeing the party. "Where's Dean? The Doctor, John?"  
"Split up the rescue party- the rest are fighting Antiphages."  
Sam's eyes hardened and he drew up to his full height. River couldn't help but crane her neck up to see him. _So many tall men, _she thought. _Love it. _  
His brown eyes swept over her with confusion, but then he smiled awkwardly in understanding. "Um, hi. I'm Sam. Nice to...meet you, despite the circumstances. You must be the Doctor's wife." He held out a large and callused hand, and she accepted it graciously as she pushed aside all dark thoughts wafting around in her brain. How could she not? He looked like a tall, burly bear, him and his brown puppy eyes. She felt her heart melt for Sam Winchester, the big sweetie. She knew her husband wanted to travel with him...after her parents, she had been desperate for the Doctor to fill that hole in his hearts. And, having recognized that protectiveness he gave off whenever he talked about Sam, she realized he was a great choice- big, kind, smart, strong enough to take care of himself...A good companion for her husband.  
She smiled warmly at the thought of the Doctor happy again. "Indeed. It's an honor to meet you, Sam. Judging by how hard everybody's fought to rescue you, I assume you're one decent man." She laughed breezily, sending her golden curls bouncing. Sam blushed, at both her 'honor' and the fact that people had tried so hard to get to him. _Really? _he thought. He was beginning to like the Doctor's wife already- he saw what he liked in her...She had spirit.  
"Um...thanks." He turned a shade redder, and jammed his hands in his pockets. Then his shyness faded and he asked in a strong voice, "Which way are they?"  
"I can take us," Castiel said, spreading his arms.  
"No, wait!" Sherlock's eyes flared. "We'll get blown into little pieces if we appear in the middle of the firefight! We should sneak up behind- not only will it keep us from getting _killed, _it will give us an upper hand- we would take them by surprise and hit them at their backs."  
Castiel nodded sternly. River reached into her pocket and pulled out her spare weapon that the Doctor had reatomized. _Always keep an extra, _was one of her mottos. It had never failed her- especially when she had more than one. She handed the futuristic weapon to Sam, who took it with wide eyes.  
"What kind of a gun is this?" he asked incredulously. Sherlock looked over it, analyzing the technology himself. Sam ran a finger over it in awe.  
"A good one," is all River said. "The Doctor fixed it so it won't kill- but it's just as effective as a normal round. So don't shoot yourself, okay? _Kidding,"_ she said quickly, seeing his _are-you-joking_ face. "I know with a name like Winchester you ought to be handy with a weapon."  
"I'd say so, yeah." Sam turned to the angel, pressing his mouth into a hard line. "Which way, Cas?"

xXXx

The grenade detonated in a fireworks display of crackling, dancing blue light that flew through the air and overcame nearly ten Antiphages, crawling up their dark hides and bringing them to their knees as they gave twisted, electronic cries. Then they collapsed like bags of rocks onto the ship floor.

The three inside the TARDIS barely had time to draw breath as the Antiphages reacted, quickly and mercilessly. With the Doctor crouching and firing from beneath Dean, and John just across, a maelstrom of re-atomized bullets the color of blue flame rained down against the Antiphage army. But it wasn't going to be as easy as they thought- the monstrous creatures moved fast for their size- they darted behind consoles and large panels scattered haphazardly around the large, domed room. They opened fire with their own weapons upon the TARDIS, but none of their bullets managed to fly inside and hit the trio.

The guns Dean and John used worked surprisingly well, and with the first, stunning bullets they fired, their eyes narrowed in skilled determination. Dean's hazel eyes flickered with thrill and he pressed his lips firmly, and with a well-aimed shot he grazed an Antiphage in the arm. It bucked under the instant, fiery bolts and collapsed. John, eyeing the shot, tried not to smile as with determination ever so present on his face, he pulled his trigger. The bolt of light hit an Antiphage peeking over a glowing console square between its bulbous eyes.

"That was...impressive..." Dean said, wrinkling his chin, torn between jealousy and surprise.

"Crack shot, John!" the Doctor said encouragingly. The poor Doctor was, to say the least, not quite the marksman as John, who hit every target perfectly. The neon green rounds sputtering from the sonic screwdriver were a bit more spastic and hit more panels than Antiphages. Every missed round sent up a wave a sparks from a panel, casting a sort of flecked screen over the firing aliens. Finally, a few shots managed to fly at the boys. John ducked quickly as a cloud of blue roared over his ears, shredding the air. Dean nearly knocked the Doctor over as two rounds exploded over his head- static electricity made their hair stick up wildly- Dean's hair was light and fuzzy spikes, John's looked like it had been rubbed with a balloon, and the Doctor's long brown locks were almost vertical and a half a foot from his scalp. The electric rounds that came close caused their eyes to glow the same blue in reflection and when John had to pull back and reload, two Antiphages in unison fired dead-on shots at the TARDIS.

They saw it, processed it, even open their mouths to shout about it- but they could not stop it.

xXXx

The balls of cobalt slammed into the door, hitting the crouching Doctor straight in the chest. He screamed, mouth wide, as the electricity convulsed throughout his total body. He felt his hearts stutter as the lightning ripped through him. His eyes were as wide as quarters and they rolled backwards leaving his eyes white. He tried to grit his teeth but he couldn't stop screaming. He collapsed to the floor of the TARDIS, his screwdriver rolling away, and his fists clenched as the electricity rippled through him relentlessly. Then, with a gasp, his eyes snapped shut and darkness slammed down on him. Falling limp, his unconscious body ceased twitching and burns could be seen through his red striped shirt and jacket.

_"Doc!" _Dean roared. He snatched the Doctor by the arms and rapidly tugged him out of harm's way. Horror washed across his face, and John nearly got himself killed staring at the Doctor and Dean with terror.

"Doctor!" John cried. Dean laid the Doctor gently to the side, gingerly lying his head on cool TARDIS floor. But even out of fire, the Doctor was anything but safe.

"Don't let them get closer!" Dean yelled, scrabbling for the Doctor's wrist to try and feel a pulse.

_Please, dear God, be alive. C'mon, Doc, we need you. Please, please...Cas, hurry!_

xXXx

Castiel suddenly froze, his shoulders jutting backwards. Sam slowed his fast pace and felt a chill as he viewed the faint, yet ever present shock that etched onto his friend's face.

"Cas?" he asked worriedly. "What is it?" Sherlock and River paused, a ripple of concern becoming tangible between them.

"Dean..." Castiel choked, his tone almost horrified. Sam's brown eyes popped wide. He sucked in a cold breath and a stone formed in his chest. His throat tightened and he struggled to swallow.

"What?" he demanded breathlessly. "What is it? Is he okay?" _Dean, if you're- again- _Sam couldn't form the complete thought.

"He's...praying," Cas whispered. He closed his eyes with his hands to his temples and Sam restrained the urge to shake the angel until Cas gave him answers.

"That can't be all bad," River said hurriedly. "Can it?" She looked from Cas to Sam, neither of which looked optimistic.

"I don't think Dean's the praying kind," Sherlock said darkly, easily gathering that from Sam and Cas. River bit her lip in worry.

"It's...he's not hurt..." Castiel suddenly inhaled sharply, his vibrant eyes suddenly echoing with rough concern. Sam didn't even have time to feel relieved before Cas murmured the next, heart-stopping words. "No...it's the Doctor."

"Oh, God," River whispered. "Please- please tell me he's alright, Castiel!" Her hands covered her mouth and she tried to keep her voice from breaking. A paralyzing numbness swept over her.

Sherlock tensed visibly, his silver eyes widening. This was not a factor he anticipated.

Sam gulped, looking at Cas pleadingly. _Impossible. It can't be- _

Castiel wrenched his eyelids open. "He's...alive, I think. But if Dean is praying..." Castiel's voice dropped off and it seemed to cause every heart in the room to feel ten pounds heavier. "It can't be good."

"We have to hurry!" Sam gasped, ripping out his weapon and tearing down the hall as fast as he could.

River had dashed down the hallway as soon as she could feel her legs, with an icy horror in her heart. Her pistol was clutched in her hand so tight her knuckles were white and her eyes threatened to well.

_Dear God, not him. Not him. _Rage bubbled up inside of her, burying her terror.

Not _my _Doctor!

Sherlock and Castiel didn't waste a moment racing down after Sam and River, sharing an equal look of dread as their feet slammed down the hallway.

xXXx

"Close the door!" Dean yelled, his worry-cracked voice barely audible amongst the snapping and shrieking of electricity. John nodded with a jerk of the head, and he flung himself at the TARDIS door and slammed it shut, barely escaping a ball of lightning to the head. The TARDIS began to beep, louder and louder and swathing the trio in flashing green and blue lights. The lights began to flicker and ball upon ball of powerful blue flame crashed into the blue box.

"Fix him, goddamnit, John! I don't know what to do! Help him!" Dean felt hysteria edge into his voice and he struggled to clamp down on it. John nearly fell next to the Doctor.

"There's a pulse but it's crazy because his two hearts- and goddamnit, I don't know if he's dying!"

John scrambled for the Doctor's wrist, and indeed the wild, irregular double-beat of the Timelord's hearts. "His hearts are going arrhythmic. He's- _damn!"_ The heartbeats stuttered and faded. "_No! _Those sodding Antiphages!" Dean gave John a panicked look.

Swift medical treatment zipped through John's brain. "No, no, no! You're not checking out today, Doctor! Dean, lift his legs!"

"What?"

"Lift his bloody legs!" John roared. Dean hastily did so, lifting both of the Doctor's thin legs. John, with one tug, untied the Doctor's bowtie, allowing for more air, and placing his hands away from the burns in the Doctor's abdomen, began to compress his chest vigorously in five cycles, over both hearts. He pushed hard, and Dean could only watch as John struggled to bring the Doctor back.

"Don't you die, Doctor!" John gasped. "We need you, we need you right here, right now." The Doctor's face remained slack, his mouth slightly agape. His neck was limp and his wild hair was damp and clinging to his face.

"C'mon, Doc," Dean muttered, eyes glued to the Doctor's face. John continued to pump, occasionally pressing his ear to the Timelord's chest. Nothing but silence.

"C'mon, c'mon!" He kept pumping. Giving up didn't occur to either men as they stared at the Doctor's face. Despair only made John try harder and his arms ached from the effort.

Suddenly, the Doctor's back arched as he violently inhaled. He gave a strangled cry and jerked. A wispy, ethereal gust of gold passed from the Doctor's lips, and he clutched his chest.

"_Aughh! _Someone's beating on my chest! Fire, on fire!" Dean dropped the Doctor's legs with a thud as a long, black foot thrust towards his jaw frenziedly, and he grabbed the Doctor's opening and closing fists. The Doctor gasped for air, gasping and gasping until his voice gave way.

"Doc, Doc! You're okay, you're okay!" Ripping his gaze from the temporarily hysteric Doctor he beamed incredulously at John, who had nearly collapsed himself in relief. "You did it, you miracle-working son of a bitch!"

"I- I did! Thank God..." He ran a hand across his face, but as the Doctor began to quiet and pant, his eyes drew to the burns on his abdomen. "Oh...Wow." John watched in awe as the charred, burned skin on the Doctor's chest began to secrete a glowing, glittering gold wave. The damaged, enflamed tissue started to heal, and the Doctor grasped Dean's hands in pain as his back arched again. Dean looked from the Doctor's face to the wounds in shock.

_"Holy hell." _

"Strangest...patient...ever," John breathed.

"Understatement of the Year goes to..." Dean muttered, and the Doctor's long, pale hands finally slackened against Dean's.

"Ow," he groaned. He leaned up, but John and Dean made him lean back down, gently but forcefully. The Doctor licked his dry lips and made his face- his mouth tasted like burnt pennies. "Hold it there, Doctor," John advised. "You just died...a bit."

"What?" The Doctor craned his neck to look at the army doctor with a wince.

"No, I didn't. I can't have. But you did, however, keep me from regenerating. That would have been very bad- but you managed to keep my hearts beating. You are _amazing, _John Watson. Thank you- Dean, as well- Incredible, you are." John gave a tired, weary chuckle, and Dean rolled his eyes to hide his emotions. The Doctor swallowed hard, and looked around. "What happened?"

In response, the TARDIS trembled and it sounded like a thunderstorm was pounding the door. John steeled his expression and Dean's nostrils flared, and he scooped up his gun. The skin on John's chin tightened as he quickly relayed the past few minutes to the Doctor. "You got hit. Twice. In the chest. Then your hearts went into arrhythmia then stopped altogether. Dean pulled you out of the way and we had to shut the door."

"Ah. I see. So we're...in trouble." He lifted a hand and brushed his sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes. He looked at the two men leaning over him, his eyes glassy.

"Maybe you should get Understatement of the Year," Dean grumbled. "Yeah, Doc. We're in big trouble."

xXXx

Sam tried desperately to ignore the pounding headache in his head as he darted down the hallways. His memories of the last few hours were completely blank. The last thing he remembered was waking up in a cold room upside down. Then there was nothing. A big, fat, nothing. He didn't remember moving to that room, and the harder he strained the more his headache worsened and a faint grating noise raked in his eardrums.

Sam grit his teeth and caught up to River's frantic pace, using his long legs to keep up. Sherlock and Cas kept up their own pace behind them, about six feet back.

"We can't just rush in there, you know," he gasped to her. She sucked on the inside of her lip with fire in her eyes.

"I don't care what we do as long as we get there- so long as I get to my husband!_ Fast. _Whoever hurt him...they'll wish they'd never been born." River's teeth gritted in a growl. Sam's eyebrows furrowed and he nodded, and eventually they skittered to a halt as the sounds of a thunderstorm boomed in the air. The hallway branched off into three sections.

"We're close," Sherlock said breathlessly, panting lightly. In less than two seconds, he bolted down the leftmost hallway, and the rest of the party followed suit. And surely enough, the corridor ended with a large, familiar domed room and the sound of electricity grew even louder. The group slowed and pressed up against the walls, Sherlock and River on one side and Cas and Sam on the other. Sam and Sherlock, closest to the edge, poked their heads out to view the Antiphages. They were to the right of the TARDIS, behind the consoles and pillars and behind the Antiphages, who were crouching and firing at the blue box incessantly. Each ball of electricity sent ripples of energy up the TARDIS's sides.

_That means they're inside, _Sam thought with relief. Worst case scenario was that the Antiphages had gotten inside the TARDIS, but luckily John and Dean had held them off. Thank God.

"At least they're safe inside," River whispered, giving voice to his thoughts. "Good. They won't get caught in my crosshairs." Her blue eyes blazed. Sherlock nodded briskly, and without warning he darted soundlessly to a pillar just behind the nearest group of Antiphages. He clutched his gun tightly and drew his finger to the trigger. Infinitesimally, he whipped his curly raven head and took a tiny and meaningful look.

_What are you doing?! _Sam mouthed at him furiously. Sherlock just rolled his eyes, and glaring at Cas, gestured with a jerk of the head to the other side of the room. Cas nodded, and he lunged out and grabbed River by an arm. She didn't have time to gasp before she was on the opposite side, behind a pillar. She punched Castiel angrily on the arm with remarkable stealth, and Castiel's eyebrows came together in confusion. Then he steeled his expression and poked a head out. River took the same position, coiled like a cobra about to strike, as Sherlock and they both nodded.

Sam, grumbling under his breath, scrambled over to Sherlock and pressed himself against the wall. He slid down and poked a shaggy head briefly past the pillar. The Antiphages had ceased firing, but they were watching the TARDIS intently.

_What's the plan? _he mouthed at the dark haired detective. For a moment, Sherlock looked irritated, but then he stooped silently down to Sam's level.

His voice was a rampant, excited breath and his grey eyes were wide with a pinch of thrill. "Twelve Antiphages in groups of two hiding behind two rows of pillars left, center, and right. You and I will attack the right and Castiel and River the left, and then the center together. The second Antiphage first row, farthest right- ninety feet north-north-east - its half-blind, hit him first. I'll exploit a panel exposure- Cas, focus on the royals with red armbands- they'll have more training. Got it?" He winked and looked at Cas, who had caught every word. River was aware that they were ready to move, and her eyes blazed again, this time full of vengeful determination.

They had messed with the wrong Timelord.

"Wow." _All in one look. _"I was just gonna turn and shoot...but, alright."

"Or you could do that." Sherlock held up a gloved hand with three fingers.

Three.

Two.

One.

xXXx

"What do we do, Doc?" Dean asked, not too pressingly but with enough urgency to make the Doc try to sit up again.

"Doctor," John warned, "We need to bandage-" He waved John away, getting slowly to his feet. John, with a sigh, let him, but with evident disapproval and concern. With a raspy breath, the Doctor padded over to the fallen screwdriver. Using a toe, he wedged it over his foot, flicked it up to a knee and bounced it like a hackysack into a hand. Then he slid it into his ruined jacket's pocket.

"Doc, you're not going to fight, are you?" Dean asked hurriedly, getting to his feet as well and rushing over to him. "That...would be a bad idea."

"No, no, don't be stupid." He walked over to the TARDIS panel and tiredly, yet quickly, flicked a few buttons. The sirens blessedly stopped, and the hail of crackling energy ceased its assault on the blue box. "We may not be able to leave, but we _are _able to move."

"What do you mean, 'move'?" Dean asked, not entirely reassured with the choice of words.

"As in move. Fly. Hover." John's eyebrows raised incredulously. He wiped his aching palms absentmindedly on his pants and came quietly next to the Doctor and Dean.

_Goddamnit. That's what I thought. _"Oh...kay. Move where exactly? This ship doesn't exactly have a lot of space to move around in, man."

"I know. But I don't think there are many options here." The Doctor leaned against a handrail wearily. Suddenly, he wrenched down the screen that allowed them to look outside. There he could see the Antiphages paused and in wait, spherical eyes glued to the silent box. "Look!" John and Dean snapped their attention.

"What?" Then they saw a flash a movement. Passed the Antiphages, there were two long parallel pillars. There was a flash of black hair, and Sherlock's head peeked at the Antiphages and their positions.

"Sherlock," John murmured in relief, watching the raven haired detective dart- _So goddamn impulsive. Thank God for that. _

There was another head suddenly peeking around the other side of the room. Cas, Dean thought with relief. They all let out gusts of air that had been held since the company had split apart.

"Do-do you think they found him? They had to, right?" Dean blurted, unable to keep the tension in his chest under lock and key. As if in reply, he saw another, brown flash of movement. This person was very, very tall. Dean's knees almost went weak. They had. They had found Sammy. _Thank God. _

But it wasn't over yet. Dean ripped his attention from the screen and gazed with ner intensity at the Doctor. "You have a plan, right...what exactly do you have in mind?" Dean barked a short laugh. "Flying around while John and me dangle out the door, firing down on them like a couple of freakin' kamikazes?"

The Doctor finally gave a faint smile. They had found Sam. And the rescue party was here to help. But the fight was only paused for the moment. "Something along those lines, yes." Dean's mouth dropped and John looked like he'd been hit with a truck- dazed and more than a little worried.

"You're joking, right?"

xXXx

xXXx  
River jerked around the edge of the pillar and open fired, a furious determination giving her dispelled bullets new precision. She hit an Antiphage right in the face and it keeled backwards instantly. _Eleven left._ The Antiphage next to it looked comically bewildered for a millisecond, then whirled and shot balls of flame towards them. Startled, the remaining ten flew into action, turning their attention from the TARDIS to the four.

Sherlock, with a degree narrowing of his lustrous eyes, took aim and fired. His bullet didn't hit the alien, rather his actual target-a damaged, smoking panel in front of it. The panel exploded in a eruption of sparks, and the two nearest flew backwards. _Nine. _Sam edged towards the end of the pillar and, seeing as how River had taken out another behind the closest console - _eight _- he dove forwards behind it and slammed his back against it. Then, on the ground, he fired steadily, his initial unfamiliarity with the gun becoming quickly erased, and struck an Antiphage in the arm. It remained upright, but the whole left side of it's body began to twitch. He fired again, and it convulsed and fell to the floor like a plank of wood. _Seven. _

Castiel, meanwhile, had been darting with angelic speed and placing his palms on every Antiphage he could get close enough to strike, sending a strong electrical surge through their bodies. Five. He dodged and dove like a gymnast, fluid and restrained, yet his blue eyes glowed with the heat of battle. He wasn't invulnerable, however. An Antiphage snuck up behind him with its gun clear to fire. River came up behind it, and in the middle of reloading, she spun and kicked an Antiphage straight in the face when it got too close to Castiel's back.

"Look out, Angel," she warned, as the Antiphage stumble back. Castiel gave her a nod. Then, reloading swiftly, she pistol-whipped the alien across the face. It lost its balance and fell, but it remained conscious. She leaned close, taking the time to whisper,_ "Don't mess with my husband." _Then she pulled the trigger straight between its shocked orbical eyes. _Four. _

Suddenly, there was the sound of wind behind her and a resonating slam. She turned just to see Castiel raise a hand and fling the Antiphage back with a wave of energy. Her mouth opened in surprise, and he gave her a slightly amused quirk of the eyebrow. "Watch out," he echoed. She beamed, then spun in a circle. Her smile disappeared.

"Damn!" she cried, and everyone in the room heard her. They spared glances, and watched with angy exasperation as the other half of the Antiphage party filed back into the room, guns blazing. There had to be at least twenty.

_"Crap," _Sam groaned, and took out a Antiphage to his left that had fired a shot that barely missed his shoulder. This wasn't going to be fun.

Sherlock quickly calculated the amount of Antiphages swarming in and how many were left- twenty-six- combined with their own abilities. He frowned while clipping a Antiphage right in the eyes. The probability this time around wasn't as opportunistic as he hoped.

And admitting that only made him realize how much trouble they were in.  
xXXx

"More are coming!" John gasped, pointing at the screen. He whirled and faced the door, looking as if he wasn't going to throw himself out of it and join the fight. Dean's expression was similar.

"We'll just have to lend a hand!" The Doctor was suddenly flurrying around the TARDIS pillar, jabbing buttons and pressing a panel. It slid open and revealed something that looked like a steering wheel. "Time to move!"

"Aw, man," Dean yelled, reluctant, but ready to fight himself. The TARDIS began to shudder and there was a sudden feeling of being in a elevator jerking to a halt as the TARDIS lifted off the ground. The Doctor, eyed the screen as if it were a windshield, began to fly the TARDIS upwards towards the massively tall ceiling about fifty feet off the ground. "Here we go."

John walked, wobbling over the shifting blue box, towards the TARDIS door with Dean inching slowly behind him. His hazel eyes were wide with unease- goddamn flying machines-but he gripped his gun tightly and clenched his jaw.

"Ready?" John asked.

"Hell no."

"Good," John said, his voice tight and high-pitched as he gripped the door. His face tightened in worry as he met the paling Winchester in the eyes. With guns in hand, they gulped and John wrenched open the door to see the paralyzing drop to the ship floor where their friends below fought for their lives.

"I fuckin' hate flying," Dean groaned, grabbing the door frame in a death grip as the TARDIS zipped spastically around the ceiling and took aim at the beasts below.

xXXx


End file.
